MAGNIFICENT 
! ADVENTURE f 


RSON    HOUGH 


. 


THE 
MAGNIFICENT  ADVENTURE 


'Him  Ro'shones/  replied  the  girl" 


[PAGE  219] 


The 

MAGNIFICENT 
ADVENTURE 

This  being  the  Story  of  the  Worlds 
Greatest  Exploration,  and  the 
Romance  of  a  very  Gal 
lant  Gentleman 

A   NOVEL, 

BY 

EMERSON   HOUGH 

AUTHOR  OF   "OUT  OF  DOORS,"    "LET  UB  GO  AFIELD,"   **TH> 

MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE,"   "THB   WAT  OF 

THE  WEST,"   ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 
ARTHUR  I.  KELLER 


D.   APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

1916 


COPYRIGHT,  1916,  BY 
EMERSON  HOUGH 

COPYRIGHT,  I9l6,  BY  THE  FRANK  A.  MUNSEY  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO 

ROBERT  H.  DAVIS 

GOOD  FRIEND 
INVALUABLE  COLLABORATOR 


M18924 


CONTENTS 


PART   I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   MOTHER  AND  SON ,.     .     .      3 

II.    MERIWEATHER  AND  THEODOSIA 15 

III.  MR.  BURR  AND  MR.  MERRY 30 

IV.  PRESIDENT  AND   SECRETARY 36 

V.  THE  PELL-MELL  AND  SOME  CONSEQUENCES     .     47 

VI.   THE  GREAT   CONSPIRACY 71 

VII.  COLONEL  BURR  AND  His  DAUGHTER     ...     86 

VIII.   THE   PARTING 94 

IX.   MR.  THOMAS  JEFFERSON 105 

X.  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THE  WEST  .     .     .     .     .117 

XI.   THE  TAMING  OF  PATRICK  GASS 128 

XII.  CAPTAIN   WILLIAM   CLARK     ......   137 

XIII.  UNDER  THREE  FLAGS 143 

XIV.  THE  RENT  IN  THE  ARMOR 153 

PART   II 

I.   UNDER  ONE  FLAG 167 

II.   THE  MYSTERIOUS  LETTER 182 

III.  THE  DAY'S  WORK 191 

IV.  THE  CROSSROADS  OF  THE  WEST 199 

V.   THE  APPEAL 208 

VI.   WHICH   WAY? 218 

VII.   THE  MOUNTAINS 230 

VIII.   TRAIL'S  END 241 

IX.   THE  SUMMONS 250 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

X.  THE  ABYSS    .     .     .     .    -.,    ,.,    .    r.,    .     .     .  256 

XI.   THE  BEE ,.,    >     .     .  272 

XII.  WHAT  VOICE  HAD  CALLED?  .     .     ....  280 

XIII.  THE  NEWS 292 

XIV.  THE  GUESTS  OF  A  NATION.     .     r 300 

XV.   MR.  JEFFERSON'S  ADVICE 308 

XVI.  THE  QUALITY  OF  MERCY  .     .     ..,    >     ».     .     .  316 

XVII.  THE  FRIENDS      .....     ,:    t.:     .     ,.     .     .  328 

XVIII.  THE   WILDERNESS    .     ,.     .     ,.     .     ,.,    -..     .     .  336 

XIX.  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA  .     ,.,    ,.:    M    M    ..,    >     i.     .351 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  'Him  Ro'shones/  replied  the  girl"  Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

"  'Mistah  Thomas  Jeffahson !'   was  his  sole  announce 
ment"     50 

"'Oh,  Theo,  what  have  I  done?"' 162 

"Her  face  indeed!" ,.,    ,     .     .     .     .  252 


PART  I 


CHAPTER   I 

MOTHER    AND    SON 

A  WOMAN,  tall,  somewhat  angular,  dark  of  hair 
and  eye,  strong  of  features — a  woman  now  ap 
proaching  middle  age — sat  looking  out  over 
the  long,  tree-clad  slopes  that  ran  down  from  the  gal 
lery  front  of  the  mansion  house  to  the  gate  at  the 
distant  roadway.    She  had  sat  thus  for  some  moments, 
many  moments,   her  gaze  intently  fixed,   as  though 
waiting  for  something — something  or  someone  that 
she  did  not  now  see,  but  expected  soon  to  see. 

It  was  late  afternoon  of  a  day  so  beautiful  that  not 
even  old  Albemarle,  beauty  spot  of  Virginia,  ever  pro 
duced  one  more  beautiful — not  in  the  hundred  years 
preceding  that  day,  nor  in  the  century  since  then. 
For  this  was  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago;  and 
what  is  now  an  ancient  land  was  then  a  half  opened 
region,  settled  only  here  and  there  by  the  great  plan 
tations  of  the  well-to-do.  The  house  that  lay  at  the 
summit  of  the  long  and  gentle  slope,  flanked  by  its 
wide  galleries — its  flung  doors  opening  it  from  front 
to  rear  to  the  gaze  as  one  approached — had  all  the  rude 
comfort  and  assuredness  usual  with  the  gentry  of  that 
time  and  place. 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

It  was  the  privilege,  and  the  habit,  of  the  Widow 
Lewis  to  sit  idJy  when  she  liked,  but  her  attitude  now 
was  not  that  of  idleness.  Intentness,  reposeful  ac 
ceptance  of  life,  rather,  showed  in  her  motionless,  long- 
sustained  position.  She  was  patient,  as  women  are; 
but  her  strong  pose,  its  freedom  from  material  sup 
port,  her  restrained  power  to  do  or  to  endure,  gave 
her  the  look  of  owning  something  more  than  resigna 
tion,  something  more  than  patience.  A  strong  figure 
of  a  woman,  one  would  have  said  had  one  seen  her, 
sitting  on  the  gallery  of  her  old  home  a  hundred  and 
twenty-four  years  ago. 

The  Widow  Lewis  stared  straight  down  at  the  gate, 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  with  yearning  in  her  gaze. 
But  as  so  often  happens,  what  she  awaited  did  not  ap 
pear  at  the  time  and  place  she  herself  had  set.  There 
fell  at  the  western  end  of  the  gallery  a  shadow — a 
tall  shadow,  but  she  did  not  see  it.  She  did  not  hear 
the  footfall,  not  stealthy,  but  quite  silent,  with  which 
the  tall  owner  of  the  shadow  came  toward  her  from 
the  gallery  end. 

It  was  a  young  man,  or  rather  boy,  no  more  than 
eighteen  years  of  age,  who  stood  now  and  gazed  at 
her  after  his  silent  approach,  so  like  that  of  an  In 
dian  savage.  Half  savage  himself  he  seemed  now,  as 
he  stood,  clad  in  the  buckskin  garments  of  the  chase, 
then  not  unusual  in  the  Virginian  borderlands  among 
settlers  and  hunters,  and  not  held  outre  among  a  peo 
ple  so  often  called  to  the  chase  or  to  war. 

His  tunic  was  of  dressed  deer  hide,  his  well-fitting 
leggings  also  of  that  material.  His  feet  were  covered 

4 


MOTHER    AND    SON 

with  moccasins,  although  his  hat  and  the  neat  scarf 
at  his  neck  were  those  of  a  gentleman.  He  was  a 
practical  youth,  one  would  have  said,  for  no  ornament 
of  any  sort  was  to  be  seen  upon  his  garb.  In  his  hand 
he  carried  a  long  rifle  of  the  sort  then  used  there 
about.  At  his  belt  swung  the  hide  of  a  raccoon,  the 
bodies  of  a  few  squirrels. 

Had  you  been  a  close  observer,  you  would  have 
found  each  squirrel  shot  fair  through  the  head.  In 
deed,  a  look  into  the  gray  eye  of  the  silent-paced  youth 
would  have  assured  you  in  advance  of  his  skill  with 
his  weapons — you  would  have  known  that  to  be  nat 
ural  with  him. 

You  would  not  soon  have  found  his  like,  even  in 
that  land  of  tall  hunting  men.  He  was  a  grand  young 
being  as  he  stood  there,  straight  and  clean-limbed; 
hard-bitten  of  muscle,  albeit  so  young;  powerful  and 
graceful  in  his  stride.  The  beauty  of  youth  was  his, 
and  of  a  strong  heredity — that  you  might  have  seen. 

The  years  of  youth  were  his,  yes ;  but  the  lightness 
of  youth  did  not  rest  on  his  brow.  While  he  was  not 
yet  eighteen,  the  gravity  of  manhood  was  his. 

He  did  not  smile  now,  as  he  saw  his  mother  sitting 
mere  absorbed,  gazing  out  for  his  return,  and  not  see 
ing  him  now  that  he  had  returned.  Instead,  he  stepped 
forward,  and  quietly  laid  a  hand  upon  her  shoulder, 
not  with  any  attempt  to  surprise  or  startle  her,  but  as 
if  he  knew  that  she  would  accept  it  as  the  announce 
ment  of  his  presence. 

He  was  right.  The  strong  figure  in  the  chair  did 
not  start  away.  No  exclamation  came  from  the 

5 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

straight  mouth  of  the  face  now  turned  toward  him. 
Evidently  the  nerves  of  these  two  were  not  of  the  sort 
readily  stampeded. 

The  young  man's  mother  at  first  did  not  speak  to 
him.  She  only  reached  up  her  own  hand  to  take  that 
which  lay  upon  her  shoulder.  They  remained  thus 
for  a  moment,  until  at  last  the  youth  stepped  back 
to  lean  his  rifle  against  the  wall. 

"I  am  late,  mother/'  said  he  at  length,  as  he  turned 
and,  seating  himself  at  her  feet,  threw  his  arm  across 
her  lap — himself  but  boy  again  now,  and  not  the 
hunter  and  the  man. 

She  stroked  his  dark  hair,  not  foolishly  fond,  but 
with  a  sort  of  stern  maternal  care,  smoothing  it  back 
in  place  where  it  belonged,  straightening  out  the  riot 
it  had  assumed.  It  made  a  mane  above  his  forehead 
and  reached  down  his  neck  to  his  shoulders,  so  heavy 
that  where  its  dark  mass  was  lifted  it  showed  the  skin 
of  his  neck  white  beneath. 

"You  are  late,  yes." 

"And  you  waited — so  long?" 

"I  am  always  waiting  for  you,  Merne,"  said  she. 
She  used  the  Elizabethan  vowel,  as  one  should  pro 
nounce  "bird,"  with  no  sound  of  "u" — "Mairne,"  the 
name  sounded  as  she  spoke  it.  And  her  voice  was 
full  and  rich  and  strong,  as  was  her  son's;  musically 
strong. 

"I  am  always  waiting  for  you,  Merne,"  said  she. 
"But  I  long  ago  learned  not  to  expect  anything 
else  of  you."  She  spoke  with  not  the  least  reproach 
in  her  tone.  "No,  I  only  knew  that  you  would  come 

6 


MOTHER    AND    SON 

back  in  time,  because  you  told  me  that  you  would." 

"And  you  did  not  fear  for  me,  then — gone  over 
night  in  the  woods  ?"  He  half  smiled  at  that  thought 
himself. 

"You  know  I  would  not.  I  know  you,  what  you 
are — born  woodsman.  No,  I  trust  you  to  care  for 
yourself  in  any  wild  country,  my  son,  and  to  come 
back.  And  then — to  go  back  again  into  the  forest. 
When  will  it  be,  my  son?  Tomorrow?  In  two  days, 
or  four,  or  six  ?  Sometime  you  will  go  to  the  wilder 
ness  again.  It  draws  you,  does  it  not?" 

She  turned  her  head  slightly  toward  the  west,  where 
lay  the  forest  from  which  the  boy  had  but  now 
emerged.  He  did  not  smile,  did  not  deprecate.  He 
was  singularly  mature  in  his  actions,  though  but  eigh 
teen  years  of  age. 

"I  did  not  desert  my  duty,  mother,"  said  he  at  length. 

"Oh,  no,  you  would  not  do  that,  Merne!"  returned 
the  widow. 

"Please,  mother,"  said  he  suddenly,  "I  want  you  to 
call  me  by  my  full  name — that  of  your  people.  Am 
I  not  Meriwether,  too?" 

The  hand  on  his  forehead  ceased  its  gentle  move 
ment,  fell  to  its  owner's  lap.  A  sigh  passed  his  moth 
er's  set  lips. 

"Yes,  my  son,  Meriwether,"  said  she.  "This  is 
the  last  journey !  I  have  lost  you,  then,  it  seems  ?  You 
do  not  wish  to  be  my  boy  any  longer?  You  are  a 
man  altogether,  then?" 

"I  am  Meriwether  Lewis,  mother,"  said  he  gravely, 
and  no  more. 

2  7 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"Yes!"  She  spoke  absently,  musingly.  "Yes,  you 
always  were!" 

"I  went  westward,  clear  across  the  Ragged  Moun 
tains,"  said  the  youth.  "These" — and  he  pointed  with 
contempt  to  the  small  trophies  at  his  belt — "will  do  for 
the  darkies  at  the  stables.  I  put  yon  old  ringtail  up  a 
tree  last  night,  on  my  way  home,  and  thought  it  was 
as  well  to  wait  till  dawn,  till  I  could  see  the  rifle- 
sights;  and  afterward — the  woods  were  beautiful  to 
day.  As  to  the  trails,  even  if  there  is  no  trail,  I  know 
the  way  back  home — you  know  that,  mother." 

"I  know  that,  my  son,  yes.  You  were  born  for  the 
forest.  I  fear  I  shall  not  hold  you  long  on  this  quiet 
farm/' 

"All  in  time,  mother !  I  am  to  stay  here  with  you 
until  I  am  fitted  to  go  higher.  You  know  what  Mr. 
Jefferson  has  said  to  me.  I  am  for  Washington, 
mother,  one  of  these  days — for  I  hold  it  sure  that  Mr. 
Jefferson  will  go  there  in  some  still  higher  place.  He 
was  my  father's  friend,  and  is  ours  still." 

"It  may  be  that  you  will  go  to  Washington,  my 
son,"  said  his  mother;  "I  do  not  know.  But  will  you 
stay  there?  The  forest  will  call  to  you  all  your  life 
— all  your  life!  Do  I  not  know  you,  then?  Can  I 
not  see  your  life — all  your  life — as  painly  as  if  it  were 
-written  ?  Do  I  not  know — your  mother  ?  Why  should 
not  your  mother  know?" 

He  looked  around  at  her  rather  gravely  once  again, 
unstnilingly,  for  he  rarely  smiled. 

"How  do  you  know,  mother  ?  What  do  you  know  ? 
Tell  me — about  myself!  Then  I  will  tell  you  also. 

8 


MOTHER    AND    SON 

We  shall  see  how  we  agree  as  to  what  I  am  and  what 
I  ought  to  do!" 

"My  son,  it  is  no  question  of  what  you  ought  to 
4o,  for  that  blends  too  closely  in  fate  with  what  you 
surely  will  do — must  do — because  it  was  written  for 
you.  Yonder  forest  will  always  call  to  you/'  She 
turned  now  toward  the  sun,  sinking  across  the  red- 
leaved  forest  lands.  "The  wilderness  is  your  home. 
You  will  go  out  into  it  and  return — often;  and  then 
at  last  you  will  go  and  not  come  back  again — not  to  me 
— not  to  anyone  will  you  come  back." 

The  youth  did  not  move  as  she  sat,  her  hands  on 
his  head.  Her  voice  went  on,  even  and  steady. 

"You  are  old,  Meriwether  Lewis !  It  is  time,  now. 
You  are  a  man.  You  always  were  a  man !  You  were 
born  old.  You  never  have  been  a  boy,  and  never  can 
be  one.  You  never  were  a  child,  but  always  a  man. 
When  you  were  a  baby,  you  did  not  smile;  when  you 
were  a  boy,  you  always  had  your  way.  My  boy,  a 
long  time  ago  I  ceased  to  oppose  that  will  of  yours — 
I  knew  that  it  was  useless.  But,  ah,  how  I  have  loved 
that  will  when  I  felt  it  was  behind  your  promise!  I 
knew  you  would  do  what  you  had  set  for  yourself  to 
do.  I  knew  you  would  come  back  with  deeds  in  your 
hand,  my  boy — gained  through  that  will  which  never 
would  bend  for  me  or  for  anyone  else  in  the  world !" 

He  remained  motionless,  apparently  unaffected,  as 
his  mother  went  on. 

"You  were  always  old,  always  grown  up,  always 
resolved,  always  your  own  master — always  Meriwether 
Lewis.  When  you  were  born,  you  were  not  a  child. 

9 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

When  the  old  nurse  brought  you  to  me — I  can  see  her 
black  face  grinning  now — she  carried  you  held  by  the 
feet  instead  of  lying  on  her  arm.  You  stood,  you 
were  so  strong!  Your  hair  was  dark  and  full  even 
then.  You  were  old !  In  two  weeks  you  turned  where 
you  heard  a  sound — you  recognized  sight  and  sound 
together,  as  no  child  usually  does  for  months.  You 
were  beautiful,  my  boy,  so  strong,  so  straight — ah, 
yes! — but  you  never  were  a  boy  at  all.  When  you 
should  have  been  a  baby,  you  did  not  weep  and  you 
did  not  smile.  I  never  knew  you  to  do  so.  From  the 
first,  you  always  were  a  man." 

She  paused,  but  still  he  did  not  speak. 

"That  was  well  enough,  for  later  we  were  left  alone. 
But  your  father  was  in  you.  Do  I  not  know  well 
enough  where  you  got  that  settled  melancholy  of  yours, 
that  despondency,  that  somber  grief — call  it  what  you 
like — that  marked  him  all  his  life,  and  even  in  his 
death?  That  came  from  him,  your  father.  I  thank 
God  I  did  not  give  you  that,  knowing  w7hat  life  must 
hold  for  you  in  suffering!  He  suffered,  yes,  but  not 
as  you  will.  And  you  must — you  must,  my  son.  Be 
yond  all  other  men,  you  will  suffer!" 

"You  were  better  named  Cassandra,  mother !"  Yet 
the  young  man  scarce  smiled  even  now. 

"Yes,  I  am  a  prophetess,  all  too  sooth  a  prophetess, 
my  son.  I  see  ahead  as  only  a  mother  can  see — per 
haps  as  only  one  of  the  old  Highland  blood  can  see. 
I  am  soothseer  and  soothsayer,  because  you  are  blood 
of  my  blood,  bone  of  my  bone,  and  I  cannot  help  but 
know.  I  cannot  help  but  know  what  that  melancholy 

10 


MOTHER    AND    SON 

and  that  resolution,  all  these  combined,  must  spell  for 
you.  You  know  how  his  heart  was  racked  at  times?" 

The  boy  nodded  now. 

"Then  know  how  your  own  must  be  racked  in  turn !" 
said  she.  "My  son,  it  is  no  ordinary  fate  that  will  be 
yours.  You  will  go  forward  at  all  costs;  you  will 
keep  your  word  bright  as  the  knife  in  your  belt — you 
will  drive  yourself.  What  that  means  to  you  in 
agony — what  that  means  when  your  will  is  set  against 
the  unalterable  and  the  inevitable — I  wish — oh,  I  wish 
I  could  not  see  it!  But  I  do  see  it,  now,  all  laid  out 
before  me — all,  all!  Oh,  Merne — may  I  not  call  you 
Merne  once  more  before  I  let  you  go?" 

She  let  her  hands  fall  from  his  head  to  his  shoulders 
as  she  gazed  steadily  out  beyond  him,  as  if  looking 
into  his  future;  but  she  herself  sat,  her  strong  face 
composed.  She  might,  indeed,  have  been  a  prophetess 
of  old. 

"Tragedy  is  yours,  my  son,"  said  she,  slowly,  "not 
happiness.  No  woman  will  ever  come  and  lie  in  your 
arms  happy  and  content." 

"Mother!" 

He  half  flung  off  her  hands,  but  she  laid  them  again 
more  firmly  on  his  shoulders,  and  went  on  speaking, 
as  if  half  in  reverie,  half  in  trance,  looking  down  the 
long  slope  of  green  and  gold  as  if  it  showed  the  vista 
of  the  years. 

"You  will  love,  my  boy,  but  with  your  nature  how 
could  love  mean  happiness  to  you?  Love?  No  man 
could  love  more  terribly.  You  will  be  intent,  resolved, 
but  the  firmness  of  your  will  means  that  much  more 

ii 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

suffering  for  you.  You  will  suffer,  my  boy — I  see  that 
for  you,  my  first-born  boy!  You  will  love — why 
should  you  not,  a  man  fit  to  love  and  be  loved  by  any 
woman?  But  that  love,  the  stronger  it  grows,  will 
but  burn  you  the  deeper.  You  will  struggle  through 
on  your  own  path;  but  happiness  does  not  lie  at  the 
end  of  that  path  for  you.  You  will  succeed,  yes — 
you  could  not  fail ;  but  always  the  load  on  your  shoul 
ders  will  grow  heavier  and  heavier.  You  will  carry 
it  alone,  until  at  last  it  will  be  too  much  for  you.  Your 
strong  heart  will  break.  You  will  lie  down  and  die. 
Such  a  fate  for  you,  Merne,  my  boy — such  a  man  as 
you  will  be !" 

She  sighed,  shivered,  and  looked  about  her,  startled, 
as  if  she  had  spoken  aloud  in  some  dream. 

"Well,  then,  go  on!"  she  said,  and  withdrew  her 
hands  from  his  shoulders.  The  faces  of  both  were  now 
gazing  straight  on  over  the  gold-flecked  slope  before 
them.  "Go  on,  you  are  a  man.  I  know  you  will  not 
turn  back  from  what  you  undertake.  You  will  not 
change,  you  will  not  turn — because  you  cannot.  You 
were  born  to  earn  and  not  to  own;  to  find,  but  not  to 
possess.  But  as  you  have  lived,  so  you  will  die." 

"You  give  me  no  long  shrift,  mother?"  said  the 
youth,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"How  can  I?  I  can  only  tell  you  what  is  in  the 
book  of  life.  Do  I  not  know?  A  mother  always  loves 
her  son;  so  it  takes  all  her  courage  to  face  what  she 
knows  will  be  his  lot.  Any  mother  can  read  her  son's 
future — if  she  dares  to  read  it.  She  knows — she 
knows !" 

12 


MOTHER    AND    SON 

There  was  a  long  silence ;  then  the  widow  continued. 

"Listen,  Merne,"  she  said.  "You  call  me  a  proph 
etess  of  evil.  I  am  not  that.  Do  you  think  I  speak 
only  in  despair,  my  boy  ?  No,  there  is  something  larger 
than  mere  happiness.  Listen,  and  believe  me,  for  now 
I  could  not  fail  to  know.  I  tell  you  that  your  great 
desire,  the  great  wish  of  your  life,  shall  be  yours !  You 
never  will  relinquish  it,  you  always  will  possess  it,  and 
at  last  it  will  be  yours." 

Again  silence  fell  between  them  before  she  went  on, 
her  hand  again  resting  on  her  son's  dark  hair. 

"Your  great  desire  will  cost  me  my  son.  Be  it  so? 
We  breed  men  for  the  world,  we  women,  and  we  give 
them  up.  Out  of  the  agony  of  our  hearts,  we  do  and 
must  always  give  them  up.  That  is  the  price  I  must 
pay.  But  I  give  you  up  to  the  great  hope,  the  great 
thing  of  your  life.  Should  I  complain?  Am  I  not 
your  mother,  and  therefore  a  woman?  And  should  a 
woman  complain?  But,  Oh,  Merne,  Merne,  my  son, 
my  boy!" 

She  drew  his  head  back,  so  that  she  could  see  deep 
into  his  eyes.  Her  dark  brows  half  frowning,  she 
gazed  down  upon  him,  not  so  much  in  tenderness  as  in 
intentness.  For  the  first  time  in  many  months — for 
the  last  time  in  his  life — she  kissed  him  on  the  fore 
head  ;  and  then  she  let  him  go. 

He  rose  now,  and,  silently  as  he  had  come,  passed 
around  the  end  of  the  wide  gallery. 

Her  gaze  did  not  follow  him.  She  sat  still  looking 
down  the  golden-green  slope  where  the  leaves  were 
dropping  silently.  She  sat,  her  chin  in  her  hand,  her 

13 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

elbows  upon  her  knees,  facing  that  future,  somber  but 
splendid,  to  which  she  had  devoted  her  son,  and  which 
in  later  years  he  so  singularly  fulfilled. 

That  was  the  time  when  the  mother  of  Meriwether 
Lewis  gave  him  to  his  fate — his  fate,  so  closely  linked 
with  yours  and  mine. 


CHAPTER   II 

MERIWETHER  AND  THEODOSIA 

SOFT  is  the  sun  in  the  summer  season  at  Wash 
ington,  softer  at  times  than  any  old  Dan  Chaucer 
ever  knew ;  but  again  so  ardent  that  anyone  who 
would  ride  abroad  would  best  do  so  in  the  early  morn 
ing.     This  is  true  today,  and  it  was  true  when  the 
capital  city  lay  in  the  heart  of  a  sweeping  forest  at 
the  edge  of  a  yet  unconquered  morass. 

The  young  man  who  now  rode  into  this  forest,  leav 
ing  behind  him  the  open  streets  of  the  straggling  city — 
then  but  beginning  to  lighten  under  the  rays  of  the 
morning  sun — was  one  who  evidently  knew  his  Wash 
ington.  He  knew  his  own  mind  as  well,  for  he  rode 
steadily,  as  if  with  some  definite  purpose,  to  some  defi 
nite  point,  looking  between  his  horse's  ears. 

Sitting  as  erect  and  as  easily  as  any  cavalier  of  the 
world's  best,  he  was  tall  in  his  saddle  seat,  his  legs 
were  long  and  straight.  His  boots  were  neatly  var 
nished,  his  coat  well  cut,  hi,s  gloves  of  good  pattern 
for  that  time.  His  hat  swept  over  a  mass  of  dark  hair, 
which  fell  deep  in  its  loose  cue  upon  his  neck.  His 
cravat  was  immaculate  and  well  tied.  He  was  a  good 
figure  of  a  man,  a  fine  example  of  the  young  man- 

15 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

hood  of  America  as  he  rode,  his  light,  firm  hand  half 
unconsciously  curbing  the  antics  of  the  splendid  ani 
mal  beneath  him — a  horse  deep  bay  in  color,  high- 
mettled,  a  mount  fit  for  a  monarch — or  for  a  young 
gentleman  of  Virginia  a  little  more  than  one  hundred 
years  ago. 

If  it  was  not  the  horse  of  a  monarch  the  young  man- 
bestrode,  none  the  less  it  was  the  horse  of  one  who 
insisted  that  his  stables  should  be  as  good  as  those  of 
any  king — none  less,  if  you  please,  than  Mr.  Thomas 
Jefferson,  then  President  of  the  United  States  of 
America. 

This  particular  animal  was  none  other  than  Arctu- 
rus,  Mr.  Jefferson's  favorite  saddler.  It  was  the  duty 
as  well  as  the  delight  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  private  sec 
retary  to  give  Arcturus  and  his  stable-mate,  Wildair, 
their  exercise  on  alternate  days.  On  this  summer 
morning  Arcturus  was  enjoying  his  turn  beneath  his 
rider — who  forsooth  was  more  often  in  the  saddle  than 
Mr.  Jefferson  himself. 

Horse  and  rider  made  a  picture  in  perfect  keeping 
as  they  fared  on  toward  the  little-used  forest  road  which 
led  out  Rock  Creek  way.  Yonder,  a  few  miles  dis 
tant,  was  a  stone  mill  owned  by  an  old  German,  who 
sometimes  would  offer  a  cup  of  coffee  to  an  early 
horseman.  Perhaps  this  rider  knew  the  way  from 
earlier  wanderings  thither  on  other  summer  mornings. 

Arcturus  curveted  along  and  tossed  his  head,  minc 
ing  daintily,  and  making  all  manner  of  pretense  at 
being  dangerous,  with  sudden  gusts  of  speed  and  shak 
ings  of  his  head  and  blowing  out  of  his  nostrils — 

16 


MERIWETHER    AND    THEODOSIA 

though  all  the  time  the  noble  bay  was  as  gentle  as  a 
dog.  Whether  or  not  he  really  were  dangerous  would 
have  made  small  difference  to  the  young  man  who  be 
strode  him,  for  his  seat  was  that  of  the  born  horse 
man. 

They  advanced  comfortably  enough,  the  rider  seem 
ingly  less  alive  to  the  joys  of  the  morning  than  was 
the  animal  beneath  him.  The  young  man's  face  was 
grave,  his  mouth  unsmiling — a  mouth  of  half  Indian 
lines,  broken  in  its  down-sweeping  curve  merely  by  the 
point  of  a  bow  which  spoke  of  gentleness  as  well  as 
strength.  His  head  was  that  of  the  new  man,  the 
American,  the  new  man  of  a  new  world,  young  and 
strong,  a  continent  that  had  lain  fallow  from  the  birth 
of  time. 

What  burdened  the  mind  of  a  man  like  this,  of  years 
which  should  have  left  him  yet  in  full  attunement  with 
the  morning  of  life  and  with  the  dawn  of  a  country? 
Why  should  he  pay  so  little  heed  to  the  playful  ad 
vances  of  Arcturus,  inviting  him  for  a  run  along  the 
shady  road? 

Arcturus  could  not  tell.  He  could  but  prance  in 
sinuatingly,  his  ears  forward,  his  head  tossed,  his  eye 
now  and  again  turned  about,  inquiring. 

But  though  the  young  man,  moody  and  abstracted, 
still  looked  on  ahead,  some  of  his  senses  seemed  yet 
on  guard.  His  head  turned  at  the  slightest  sound  of 
the  forest  life  that  came  to  him.  If  a  twig  cracked, 
he  heard  it.  If  a  green  nut  cut  by  some  early  squirrel 
clattered  softly  on  the  leaves,  that  was  not  lost  to  him. 

A  bevy  of  partridges,  feeding  at  dawn  along  the 

'7 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

edge  of  the  forest  path,  whirled  up  in  his  horse's  face ; 
and  though  he  held  the  startled  animal  close,  he  fol 
lowed  the  flight  of  the  birds  writh  the  trained  eye  of 
the  fowler,  and  marked  well  where  they  pitched  again. 
He  did  these  things  unconsciously  as  one  well  used 
to  the  woods,  even  though  his  eye  turned^again  straight 
down  the  road  and  the  look  of  intentness,  of  sadness, 
almost  of  melancholy,  once  more  settled  upon  his  fea 
tures. 

He  advanced  into  the  wood  until  all  sight  of  the 
city  was  quite  cut  off  from  him,  until  the  light  grew 
yet  dimmer  along  the  forest  road,  in  places  almost 
half  covered  with  a  leafy  canopy,  until  at  length  he 
came  to  the  valley  of  the  little  stream.  He  followed 
the  trail  as  it  rambled  along  the  bank  toward  the  mill, 
through  scenes  apparently  familiar  to  him. 

Abstracted  as  he  was  he  must  have  been  alert,  alive, 
for  now,  suddenly,  he  broke  his  moody  reverie  at 
some  sound  which  he  heard  on  ahead.  He  reined  in 
for  just  an  instant,  then  loosed  the  bridle  and  leaned 
forward.  The  horse  under  him  sprang  forward  in 
giant  strides. 

It  was  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  the  young  cavalier 
had  heard — the  voice  of  a  woman — apparently  a  wom 
an  in  some  distress.  What  cavalier  at  any  time  of  the 
world  has  not  instinctively  leaped  forward  at  such 
sound?  In  less  than  half  a  moment  the  rider  was 
around  the  turn  of  the  leafy  trail. 

She  was  there,  the  woman  who  had  cried  out,  her 
self  mounted,  and  now  upon  the  point  of  trying  con 
clusions  with  her  mount.  Whether  dissatisfaction  with 

18 


MERIWETHER    AND    THEODOSIA 

the  latter  or  some  fear  of  her  own  had  caused  her  to 
cry  out  might  have  been  less  certain,  had  it  not  been 
sure  that  her  eye  was  at  the  moment  fastened,  not  upon 
the  fractious  steed,  but  upon  the  cause  of  his  unwonted 
misbehavior. 

The  keen  eye  of  the  young  man  looked  with  hers, 
and  found  the  reason  for  the  sudden  scene.  A  ser 
pent,  some  feet  in  length — one  of  the  mottled,  harmless 
species  sometimes  locally  called  the  blow-snake — ob 
viously  had  come  out  into  the  morning  sun  to  warm 
himself,  and  his  yellow  body,  lying  loose  and  uncoiled, 
had  been  invisible  to  horse  and  rider  until  they  were 
almost  upon  it.  Then,  naturally,  the  serpent  had  moved 
his  head,  and  both  horse  and  rider  had  seen  him,  to 
the  dismay  of  both. 

This  the  young  man  saw  and  understood  in  a  sec 
ond,  even  as  he  spurred  forward  alongside  the  plung 
ing  animal.  His  firm  hand  on  the  bridle  brought  both 
horses  back  to  their  haunches.  An  instant  later  both 
had  control  of  their  mounts  again,  and  had  set  them 
down  to  their  paces  in  workmanlike  fashion. 

There  was  color  in  the  young  woman's  face,  but  it 
was  the  color  of  courage,  of  resolution.  There  was 
breeding  in  every  line  of  her.  Class  and  lineage 
marked  her  as  she  sat  easily,  her  supple  young  body 
accommodating  itself  handsomely  to  the  restrained 
restiveness  of  the  steed  beneath  her.  She  rode  with 
perfect  confidence,  as  an  experienced  horsewoman,  and 
was  well  turned  out  in  a  close  habit,  neither  old  nor 
new. 

Her  dark  hair — cut  rather  squarely  across  her  fore- 

19 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

head  after  an  individual  fashion  of  her  own — was  sur 
mounted  by  a  slashed  hat,  decorated  with  a  wide-flung 
plume  of  smoky  color,  caught  with  a  jewel  at  the  side. 
Both  jewel  and  plume  had  come,  no  doubt,  in  some 
ship  from  across  seas.  Her  hands  were  small,  and 
gloved  as  well  as  might  be  at  that  day  of  the  world. 
There  was  small  ornament  about  her;  nor  did  this 
young  woman  need  ornament  beyond  the  color  of  her 
cheek  and  hair  and  eye,  and  perhaps  the  touch  of  a 
bold  ribbon  at  her  throat,  which  held  a  white  collar 
closer  to  a  neck  almost  as  white. 

An  aristocrat,  you  must  have  called  her,  had  you 
seen  her  in  any  chance  company.  And  had  you  been  a 
young  man  such  as  this,  and  had  you  met  her  alone, 
in  some,  sort  of  agitation,  and  had  consent  been  given 
you — or  had  you  taken  consent — surely  you  would  have 
been  loath  to  part  company  with  one  so  fair,  and  would 
have  ridden  on  with  her  as  he  did  now. 

But  at  first  they  did  not  speak.  A  quick,  startled 
look  came  into  the  face  of  the  young  woman.  A 
deeper  shade  glowed  upon  the  cheek  of  the  cavalier, 
reddening  under  the  skin — a  flush  wrhich  shamed  him, 
but  which  he  could  not  master.  He  only  kept  his  eyes 
straight  between  his  horse's  ears  as  he  rode — after 
he  had  raised  his  hat  and  bowed  at  the  close  of  the 
episode. 

"I  am  to  thank  Captain  Lewis  once  more,"  began 
the  young  woman,  in  a  voice  vibrant  and  clear — the 
sweetest,  kindest  voice  in  the  world.  "It  is  good  for 
tune  that  you  rode  abroad  so  early  this  morning.  You 
always  come  at  need!" 

20 


MERIWETHER    AND    THEODOSIA 

He  turned  upon  her,  mute  for  a  time,  yet  looking 
full  into  her  face.  It  was  sadness,  not  boldness,  not 
any  gay  challenge,  that  marked  his  own. 

"Can  you  then  call  it  good  fortune  1"  His  own  voice 
was  low,  suppressed. 

"Why  not,  then?" 

"You  did  not  need  me.  A  moment,  and  you  would 
have  been  in  command  again — there  was  no  real  need 
of  me.  Ah,  you  never  need  me !" 

"Yet  you  come.  You  were  here,  had  the  need  been 
worse.  And,  indeed,  I  was  quite  off  my  guard — I 
must  have  been  thinking  of  something  else." 

"And  I  also." 

"And  there  was  the  serpent." 

"Madam,  there  was  the  serpent !  And  why  not  ?  Is 
this  not  Eden?  I  swear  it  is  paradise  enough  for  me. 
Tell  me,  why  is  it  that  in  the  glimpses  the  sages  give  us 
<of  paradise  they  no  more  than  lift  the  curtain — and 
let  it  fall  again?" 

"Captain  Meriwether  Lewis  is  singularly  gloomy 
this  morning!" 

"Not  more  than  I  have  been  always.  How  brief 
was  my  little  hour !  Yet  for  that  time  I  knew  paradise 
— as  I  do  now.  We  should  part  here,  madam,  now, 
forever.  Yon  serpent  spelled  danger  for  both  of  us." 

"For  both  of  us?" 

"No,  forgive  me!  None  the  less,  I  could  not  help 
my  thoughts — cannot  help  them  now.  I  ride  here 
every  morning.  I  saw  your  horse's  hoof-marks  some 
two  miles  back.  Do  you  suppose  I  did  not  know  whose 
they  were?" 

21 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"And  you  followed  me?    Ah!" 

"I  suppose  I  did,  and  yet  I  did  not  If  I  did  I 
knew  I  was  riding  to  my  fate." 

She  would  have  spoken — her  lips  half  parted — but 
what  she  might  have  said  none  heard. 

He  went  on : 

"Lhave  ridden  here  since  first  I  saw  you  turn  this 
way  one  morning.  I  guessed  this  might  be  your  haunt 
at  dawn.  I  have  ridden  here  often — and  feared  each 
time  that  I  might  meet  you.  Perhaps  I  came  this 
morning  in  the  same  way,  not  knowing  that  you  were 
near,  but  hoping  that  you  might  be.  You  see,  madam, 
I  speak  the  absolute  truth  with  you." 

"You  have  never  spoken  aught  else  to  any  human 
soul.  That  I  know." 

"And  yet  you  try  to  evade  the  truth?  Why  de 
ceive  your  heart  about  it,  since  I  have  not  deceived 
my  own  ?  I  have  faced  it  out  in  my  own  heart,  and  I 
have,  I  trust,  come  off  the  victor.  At  some  cost!" 

Her  face  was  troubled.  She  looked  aside  as  she 
replied  in  a  voice  low,  but  firm : 

"Any  woman  would  be  glad  to  hear  such  words  from 
Captain  Lewis,  and  I  am  glad.  But — the  honest  wife 
never  lived  who  could  listen  to  them  often." 

"I  know  that,"  he  said  simply. 

"No !"  Her  voice  was  very  low  now ;  her  eyes  soft 
and  cast  down  as  they  fell  upon  a  ring  under  her  glove. 
"We  must  not  meet,  Captain  Meriwether  Lewis.  At 
least,  we  must  not  meet  thus  alone  in  the  woods.  It 
might  cause  talk.  The  administration  has  enemies 
enough,  as  you  know — and  never  was  a  woman  who 

22 


MERIWETHER    AND    THEODOSIA 

did  not  have  enemies,  no  matter  how  clean  her  life 
has  been." 

"Clean  as  the  snow,  yours !  I  have  never  asked  you 
to  be  aught  else,  and  never  will.  I  sought  you  once, 
when  I  rode  from  Virginia  to  New  York — when  I  first 
had  my  captain's  pay,  before  Mr.  Jefferson  asked  me 
to  join  his  family.  Before  that  time  I  had  too  little 
to  offer  you;  but  then,  with  my  hopes  and  my  ambi 
tions,  I  ventured.  I  made  that  journey  to  offer  you 
my  hand.  I  was  two  weeks  late — you  were  already 
wedded  to  Mr.  Alston.  Then  I  learned  that  happiness 
never  could  be  mine..  Yes,  we  must  part!  You  are 
the  only  thing  in  life  I  fear.  And  I  fear  as  well  for 
you.  One  wagging  tongue  in  this  hotbed  of  gossip — 
and  there  is  harm  for  you,  whom  all  good  men  should 
wish  to  shield." 

As  he  rode,  speaking  thus,  his  were  the  features 
of  a  man  of  tremendous  emotions,  a  resolute  man, 
a  man  of  strength,  of  passions  not  easily  put  down. 

She  turned  aside  her  own  face  for  an  instant.  At 
last  her  little  hand  went  to  him  in  a  simple  gesture  of 
farewell.  Meriwether  Lewis  leaned  and  kissed  it  rev 
erently  as  he  rode. 

"Good-by !"  said  he.  "Now  we  may  go  on  for  the 
brief  space  that  remains  for  us,"  he  added  a  moment 
later.  "No  one  is  likely  to  ride  this  way  this  morning. 
Let  us  go  on  to  the  old  mill.  May  I  give  you  a  cup 
of  coffee  there?" 

"I  trust  Captain  Meriwether  Lewis/'  she  replied. 

They  advanced  silently,  and  presently  came  in  sight 
of  a  little  cascade  above  a  rocky  shallowing  of  the 
3  23 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

stream.  Below  this,  after  they  had  splashed  through  the 
ford,  they  saw  the  gray  stone  walls  of  Rock  Creek  Mill. 

The  miller  was  a  plain  man,  and  silent.  Other  folk, 
younger  or  older,  married  or  single,  had  come  hither 
of  a  morning,  and  he  spoke  the  name  of  none.  He 
welcomed  these  two  after  his  fashion.  Under  the 
shade  of  a  great  tree,  which  flung  an  arm  out  to  the 
rivulet,  he  pulled  out  a  little  table  spread  in  white  and 
departed  to  tell  his  wife  of  the  company.  She,  busy 
and  smiling,  came  out  presently  with  her  best  in  old 
china  and  linen  and  wherewith  to  go  with  both. 

They  sat  now,  face  to  face  across  the  little  table,  their 
horses  cropping  the  dewy  grass  near  by.  Lewis's 
riding  crop  and  gloves  lay  on  his  knee.  He  cast  his 
hat  upon  the  grass.  Little  birds  hopped  about  on  the 
ground  and  flitted  here  and  there  in  the  trees,  twitter 
ing.  A  mocker,  trilling  in  sudden  ecstacy  of  life, 
spread  a  larger  melody  through  all  the  wood. 

The  sun  drew  gently  up  in  the  heavens,  screened  by 
the  waving  trees.  The  ripple  of  the  stream  was  very 
sweet. 

"Theodosia,  look!"  said  the  young  man,  suddenly 
swinging  a  gesture  about  him.  "Did  I  not  say  right  ? 
It  is  Eden !  Ah,  what  a  pity  it  is  that  Eden  must  ever 
be  the  same — a  serpent — repentance — and  farewell ! 
Yet  it  was  so  beautiful." 

"A  sinless  Eden,  sir." 

"No!  I  will  not  lie — I  will  not  say  that  I  do 
not  love  you  more  than  ever.  That  is  my  sin;  so  I 
must  go  away.  This  must  be  our  last  meeting — I  am 
fortunate  that  it  came  by  chance  today." 

24 


MERIWETHER    AND    THEODOSIA 

"Going  away — where,  then,  my  friend?" 
"Into  the  West.  It  always  has  called  me.  Ah,  if 
only  I  had  remained  in  the  Indian  country  yonder, 
where  I  belonged,  and  never  made  my  ride  to  New 
York — to  learn  that  I  had  come  too  late!  But  the 
West  still  is  there — the  wilderness  still  exists  to  wel 
come  such  as  me!" 

"But  you  will — you  will  come  back  again?" 
"It  is  in  the  lap  of  the  gods.  I  do  not  know  or  care. 
But  my  plans  are  all  arranged.  Mr.  Jefferson  and  I 
have  agreed  that  it  is  almost  time  to  start.  You  see, 
Theodosia,  I  am  now  back  from  my  schooling.  You 
behold  in  me,  madam,  a  scientist !  At  least  I  am  com 
petent  to  read  by  the  sun  and  stars,  can  reckon  longi 
tude  and  latitude — as  one  must,  to  journey  into  the 
desert  yonder.  If  only  I  dared  orient  my  soul  as- 
well!" 

"You  would  never  doubt  my  faith  in  my  husband." 
"No !    Of  course,  you  love  your  husband.     I  could 
not  look  at  you  a  second  time  if  you  did  not." 
"You  are  a  good  man,  Meriwether  Lewis!" 
"Do  not  say  it!     I  am  a  man  accursed  of  evil 
passions — the  most  unhappy  of  all  men.     There  is, 
nothing  else,  I  say,  in  all  the  world  that  I  fear  but  my 
love  for  you.    Tell  me  it  will  not  last — tell  me  it  will 
change — tell  me  that  I  shall  forget!    I  should  not  be 
lieve  you — but  tell  me  that.    Does  a  man  never  forget  ? 
Success — for    others;    happiness — for    someone    else. 
My  mother  said  that  was  to  be  my  fate.    What  did  she 
mean?" 

"She  meant,   Meriwether  Lewis,  that  you  were  a, 

25 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

great  man,  a  great  soul!  Only  a  man  of  noble  soul 
could  speak  as  you  have  spoken  to  me.  We  women, 
in  our  souls,  love  something  noble  and  good  and  strong. 
Then  we  imagine  someone  like  that.  We  believe,  or 
try  to  believe,  or  say  that  we  believe ;  but  always " 

"And  a  woman  may  divide  not  love,  only  love  of 
love  itself?" 

"I  shall  love  your  future,  and  shall  watch  it  always," 
she  replied,  coloring.  "You  will  be  a  great  man,  and 
there  will  be  a  great  place  for  you." 

"And  what  then?" 

"Do  not  ask  what  then.  You  ask  if  men  never 
change.  Alas,  they  do,  all  too  frequently!  Do  not 
deny  the  imperious  way  of  nature.  Only — remember 
me  as  long  as  you  can,  Meriwether  Lewis." 

She  spoke  softly,  and  the  color  of  her  cheek,  still 
rising,  told  of  her  self-reproof. 

He  turned  suddenly  at  this,  a  wonderfully  sweet 
smile  now  upon  his  face. 

"As  long  as  I  can?" 

"Yes.  Let  your  own  mind  run  on  the  ambitions 
of  a  proud  man,  a  strong  man.  Ambition — power — 
place — these  things  will  all  be  yours  in  the  coming 
years.  They  belong  to  any  man  of  ability  such  as 
yours,  and  I  covet  them  for  you.  I  shall  pray  always 
for  your  success ;  but  success  makes  men  forget." 

He  still  sat  looking  at  her  unmoved,  with  thoughts 
in  his  heart  that  he  would  not  have  cared  to  let  her 
know.  She  went  on  still,  half  tremblingly: 

"I  want  to  see  you  happy  after  a  time — with  some 
good  woman  at  your  side — your  children  by  you — in 

26 


MERIWETHER    AND    THEODOSIA 

your  own  home.  I  want  everything  for  you  which 
ought  to  come  to  any  man.  And  yet  I  know  how  hard 
it  is  to  alter  your  resolve,  once  formed.  Captain 
Lewis,  you  are  a  stubborn  man,  a  hard  man !" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Yes,  I  do  not  seem  to  change,"  said  he  simply.  "I 
hope  I  shall  be  able  to  carry  my  burden  and  to  hold 
my  trail." 

"Fie!  I  will  not  have  such  talk  on  a  morning  like 
this." 

Fearlessly  she  reached  out  her  hand  to  his,  which 
lay  upon  the  table.  She  smiled  at  him,  but  he  looked 
down,  the  lean  ringers  of  his  own  hand  not  trembling 
nor  responding. 

If  she  sensed  the  rigidity  of  the  muscles  which  held 
his  fingers  outward,  at  least  she  feared  it  not.  If  she 
felt  the  repression  which  kept  him  silent,  at  least  she 
feared  it  not.  Her  intuitions  told  her  at  last  that  the 
danger  was  gone.  His  hand  did  not  close  on  hers. 

She  raised  her  cup  and  saluted  laughingly. 

"A  good  journey,  Meriwether  Lewis,"  said  she,  "and 
a  happy  return  from  it!  Cast  away  such  melancholy 
• — you  will  forget  all  this!" 

"I  ask  you  not  to  wound  me  more  than  need  be.  I 
am  hard  to  die.  I  can  carry  many  wounds,  but  they 
may  pain  me  none  the  less." 

"Forgive  me,  then,"  she  said,  and  once  more  her 
small  hand  reached  out  toward  him.  "I  would  not 
wound  you.  I  asked  you  only  to  remember  me 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"As  I  shall  you,  of  course.  And  I  remember  that 
bright  day  when  you  came  to  me — yonder  in  New 
York.  You  offered  me  all  that  any  man  can  ever 
offer  any  woman.  I  am  proud  of  that!  I  told  my 
husband,  yes.  He  never  mentions  your  name  save  in 
seriousness  and  respect.  I  am  ambitious  for  you.  All 
the  Burrs  are  full  of  ambition,  and  I  am  a  Burr,  as 
you  know.  How  long  will  it  be  before  you.  come 
back  to  higher  office  and  higher  place  ?  Will  it  be  six 
months  hence?" 

"More  likely  six  years.  If  there  is  healing  for  me, 
the  wilderness  alone  must  give  it." 

"I  shall  be  an  old  woman — old  and  sallow  from 
the  Carolina  suns.  You  will  have  forgotten  me  then." 

"It  is  enough,"  said  he.  "You  have  lightened  my 
burden  for  me  as  much  as  may  be — you  have  made  the 
trial  as  easy  as  any  can.  The  rest  is  for  me.  At  least 
I  can  go  feeling  that  I  have  not  wronged  you  in 
any  way." 

"Yes,  Meriwether  Lewis,"  said  she  quietly,  "there 
has  not  been  one  word  or  act  of  yours  to  cause  you 
regret,  or  me.  You  have  put  no  secret  on  me  that  I 
must  keep.  That  was  like  a  man!  I  trust  you  will 
find  it  easy  to  forget  me." 

He  raised  a  hand. 

"I  said,  madam,  that  I  am  hard  to  die.  I  asked  you 
not  to  wound  me  overmuch.  Do  not  talk  to  me  of 
hopes  or  sympathy.  I  do  not  ask — I  will  not  have  it ! 
Only  this  remains  to  comfort  me — if  I  had  laid  on 
my  soul  the  memory  of  one  secret  that  I  had  dared 
to  place  on  yours,  ah,  then,  how  wretched  would  life 

28 


MERIWETHER    AND    THEODOSIA 

be  for  me  forever  after!     That  thought,  it  seems  to 
me,  I  could  not  endure." 

"Go,  then,  my  savage  gentleman,  and  let  me " 

"And  let  you  never  see  my  face  again  ?" 
She  rose  and  stood  looking  at  him,  her  own  eyes 
wet  with  a  sudden  moisture. 

"Women  worth  loving  are  so  few !"  she  said  slowly. 
"Clean  men  are  so  few!  How  a  woman  could  have 
loved  you,  Meriwether  Lewis!  How  some  woman 
ought  to  love  you!  Yes,  go  now,"  she  concluded. 
"Yes,  go!" 

"Mrs.  Alston  will  wait  with  you  here  for  a  few 
moments,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis  to  the  miller's  wife 
quietly.  He  stood  with  his  bridle  rein  across  his  arm. 
"See  that  she  is  very  comfortable.  She  might  have 
a  second  cup  of  your  good  coffee  ?" 

He  swung  into  his  saddle,  reined  his  horse  about, 
turned  and  bowed  formally  to  his  late  vis-a-vis,  who* 
still  remained  seated  at  the  table.  Then  he  was  off 
at  such  speed  as  left  Arcturus  no  more  cause  to  fret 
at  his  bridle  rein. 


CHAPTER   III 

MR.   BURR  AND  MR.   MERRY 

THE  young  Virginian  had  well-nigh  made  his  way 
out  over  the  two  miles  or  so  of  sheltered  road 
way,  when  he  heard  hoof  beats  on  ahead,  and 
slackened  his  own  speed.  He  saw  two  horsemen  ap 
proaching,  both  well  mounted,  coming  on  at  a  hand 
some  gait. 

Of  these,  one  was  a  stout  and  elderly  man  of  no 
special  shape  at  all,  who  sat  his  horse  with  small  grace, 
his  florid  face  redder  for  his  exercise,  his  cheeks  mot 
tled  with  good  living  and  hard  riding.  He  was  clad 
in  scrupulous  riding  costume,  and  seemed,  indeed,  a 
person  of  some  importance.  The  badge  of  some  order 
or  society  showed  on  his  breast,  and  his  entire  air — 
intent  as  he  was  upon  his  present  business  of  keeping 
company  with  a  skilled  horseman — marked  him  as  one 
accustomed  to  attention  from  others.  A  servant  in 
the  costume  of  an  English  groom  rode  at  a  short  dis 
tance  behind  him. 

The  second  man  was  lighter,  straight  and  trim  of 
figure,  with  an  erectness  and  exactness  of  carriage 
which  marked  him  as  a  soldier  at  some  part  of  his  life. 
He  was  clad  with  extreme  neatness,  well  booted  also, 
and  sat  his  mount  with  the  nonchalance  of  the  trained 

30 


MR.    BURR   AND   MR.    MERRY 

horseman.  His  own  garb  and  face  showed  not  the 
slightest  proof  that  he  had  been  riding  hard. 

Indeed,  he  seemed  one  whom  no  condition  or  cir 
cumstance  could  deprive  of  a  cool  immaculateness.  He 
was  a  man  to  be  marked  in  any  company — especially 
so  by  the  peculiar  brilliance  of  his  full,  dark  eye,  which 
had  a  piercing,  searching  glint  of  its  own;  an  eye  such 
as  few  men  have  owned,  and  under  whose  spell  man  or 
woman  might  easily  melt  to  acquiescence  with  the  own 
er's  mind. 

He  sat  his  horse  with  a  certain  haughtiness  as  well 
as  carelessness.  His  chin  seemed  long  and  firm,  and 
his  lofty  forehead — indeed,  his  whole  air  and  carriage 
— discovered  him  the  man  of  ambition  that  he  really 
was.  For  this  was  no  other  than  Aaron  Burr,  Vice- 
President  of  the  United  States,  whose  name  was  soon 
to  be  on  the  lips  of  all.  He  had  lately  come  to  Wash 
ington  with  the  Jefferson  administration. 

This  gentleman  now  reined  up  his  horse  as  he  caught 
sight  of  the  young  man  approaching.  His  older  com 
panion  also  halted.  Burr  raised  his  hat. 

"Ah,  Captain  Lewis  I"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  extraor 
dinary  sweetness,  yet  of  power.  "You  also  have 
caught  the  secret  of  this  climate,  eh  ?  You  ride  in  the 
early  morning — I  do  not  wonder.  You  are  Virginian, 
and  so  know  the  heats  of  Washington.  I  fancy  you 
recognize  Mr.  Merry,"  he  added,  his  glance  turning 
from  one  to  the  other. 

The  young  Virginian  bowed  to  both  gentlemen. 

"I  have  persuaded  his  excellency  the  minister  from 
Great  Britain  to  ride  with  us  on  one  of  our  Washing- 

31 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

ton  mornings.  He  has  been  good  enough  to  say — to 
say — that  he  enjoys  it!" 

Burr  turned  a  quick  glance  upon  the  heavier  figure 
at  his  side,  with  a  half  smile  of  badinage  on  his  own 
face.  Lewis  bowed  again,  formally,  and  Anthony 
Merry  answered  with  equal  politeness  and  ceremony. 

"Yes,"  said  the  envoy,  "to  be  sure  I  recall  the  young 
man.  I  met  him  in  the  anteroom  at  the  President's 
house." 

Meriwether  Lewis  cast  him  a  quick  glance,  but  made 
no  answer.  He  knew  well  enough  the  slighting  esti 
mate  in  which  everything  at  Washington  was  held  by 
this  minister  accredited  to  our  government.  Also  he 
knew,  as  he  might  have  said,  something  about  the 
diplomat's  visit  at  the  Executive  Mansion.  For  thus 
far  the  minister  from  Great  Britain  to  Washington 
had  not  been  able  to  see  the  President  of  the  United 
States. 

"And  you  are  done  your  ride?"  said  Burr  quickly, 
for  his  was  a  keen  nose  to  scent  any  complication. 
"Tell  me" — he  lifted  his  own  reins  now  to  proceed — 
"you  saw  nothing  of  my  daughter,  Mrs.  Alston?  We 
missed  her  at  the  house,  and  have  feared  her  abduction 
by  some  bold  young  Virginian,  eh?" 

His  keen  eye  rested  fairly  on  the  face  of  the  younger 
man  as  he  spoke.  The  latter  felt  the  challenge  under 
the  half  mocking  words. 

"Yes,"  he  replied  calmly,  "I  have  seen  Mrs.  Alston. 
I  left  her  but  now  at  the  old  mill,  having  a  cup  of 
coffee  with  the  miller's  wife.  I  had  not  time  myself 
for  a  second,  although  Mrs.  Alston  honored  me  by  al- 

32 


MR.    BURR    AND    MR.    MERRY 

lowing  me  to  sit  at  her  table  for  a  moment.  We  met 
by  accident,  you  see,  as  we  both  rode,  a  short  time  ago. 
I  overtook  her  when  it  was  not  yet  sunrise,  or  scarcely 
more." 

•'You  see!"  laughed  Burr,  as  he  turned  to  Merry. 
"Our  young  men  are  early  risers  when  it  comes  to 
pursuit  of  the  fair.  I  must  ride  at  once  and  see  to  the 
welfare  of  my  daughter.  She  may  be  weeping  at  los 
ing  her  escort  so  soon !" 

They  all  smiled  in  proper  fashion.  Lewis  bowed, 
and,  lifting  his  hat,  passed  on.  Burr,  as  they  parted, 
fell  for  just  a  half -moment  into  thought,  his  face  sud 
denly  inscrutable,  as  if  he  pondered  something. 

"There  is  the  ablest  man  I  have  seen  in  Washing 
ton,"  blurted  out  Merry  suddenly,  apropos  of  nothing 
that  had  been  said.  "He  has  manners,  and  he  rides  like 
an  Englishman." 

"Say  not  so!"  said  Burr,  laughing.  "Better — he 
rides  like  a  Virginian !" 

"Very  well;  it  is  the  same  thing.  The  Virginians 
are  but  ourselves — this  country  is  all  English  yet.  And 
I  swear — Mr.  Burr,  may  we  speak  freely? — I  cannot 
see,  and  I  never  shall  see,  what  is  the  sense  in  all  this 
talk  of  a  new  democracy  of  the  people.  Now,  what 
men  like  these — like  you " 

"You  know  well  enough  how  far  I  agree  with  you," 
said  Burr  somberly. 

"  'Tis  an  experiment,  our  republic,  I  am  willing  to 
say  that  boldly  to  you,  at  least.  How  long  it  may 
last " 

"Depends  on  men  like  you,"  said  Merry,  suddenly 

33 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

turning  upon  him  as  they  rode.  "How  long  do  you 
suppose  his  Majesty  will  endure  such  slights  as  they 
put  on  us  here  day  by  day?  My  blood  boils  at  the 
indignities  we  have  had  to  suffer  here — cooling  our 
heels  in  your  President's  halls.  I  call  it  mere  presump- 
tuousness.  I  cannot  look  upon  this  country  as  any 
thing  but  a  province  to  be  taken  back  again  when  Eng 
land  is  ready.  And  it  may  be,  since  so  much  turbu 
lence  and  discourtesy  seem  growing  here,  that  chance 
will  not  wait  long  in  the  coming !" 

"It  may  be,  Mr.  Merry/'  said  Aaron  Burr.  "My 
own  thoughts  you  know  too  well  for  need  of  repetition. 
Let  us  only  go  softly.  My  plans  advance  as  well  as  I 
could  ask.  I  was  just  wondering,"  he  added,  "whether 
those  two  young  people  really  were  together  there  at 
the  old  mill — and  whether  they  were  there  for  the 
first  time." 

"If  not,  'twas  not  for  the  last  time!"  rejoined  the 
older  man.  "Yonder  young  man  was  made  to  fill  a 
woman's  eye.  Your  daughter,  Mr.  Burr,  while  the 
soul  of  married  discreetness,  and  charming  as  any  of 
her  sex  I  have  ever  seen,  must  look  out  for  her  heart. 
She  might  find  it  divided  into  three  equal  parts." 

"How  then,  Mr.  Minister?" 

"One  for  her  father " 

Aaron  Burr  bowed. 

"Yes,  her  father  first,  as  I  verily  believe.  What 
then?" 

"The  second  for  her  husband " 

"Certainly.  Mr.  Alston  is  a  rising  man.  He  has 
a  thousand  slaves  on  his  plantations — he  is  one  of  the 

34 


MR.    BURR    AND    MR.    MERRY 

richest  of  the  rich  South  Carolinian  planters.  And 
in  politics  he  has  a  chance — more  than  a  chance.  But 
after  that?" 

'The  third  portion  of  so  charming  a  woman's  heart 
might  perhaps  be  assigned  to  Captain  Meriwether 
Lewis!" 

"Say  you  so  ?"  laughed  Burr  carelessly.  "Well,  well 
this  must  be  looked  into.  Come,  I  must  tell  my  son-in- 
law  that  his  home  is  in  danger  of  being  invaded!  Far 
off  in  his  Southern  rice-lands,  I  fear  he  misses  his 
young  wife  sometimes.  I  brought  her  here  for  the 
sake  of  her  own  health — she  cannot  thrive  in  such 
swamps.  Besides,  I  cannot  bear  to  have  her  live  away 
from  me.  She  is  happier  with  me  than  anywhere  else. 
Yes,  you  are  right,  my  daughter  worships  me." 

"Why  should  she  not?  And  why  should  she  not 
ride  with  a  gallant  at  sunrise  for  an  early  cup  of  coffee, 
egad  ?"  said  the  older  man. 

Burr  did  not  answer,  and  they  rode  on. 

In  the  opposite  direction  there  rode  also  the  young 
man  of  whom  they  spoke.  And  at  about  the  time  that 
the  two  came  to  the  old  mill  and  saw  Theodosia  Alston 
sitting  there — her  face  still  cast  down,  her  eyes  gazing 
abstractedly  into  her  untasted  cup  on  the  little  table — 
Meriwether  Lewis  was  pulling  up  at  the  iron  gate 
which  then  closed  the  opening  in  the  stone  wall  en 
circling  the  modest  official  residence  of  his  chief  and 
patron,  President  Jefferson. 


CHAPTER    IV 

PRESIDENT  AND  SECRETARY 

THERE  stood  waiting  near  the  gate  one  of  Mr. 
Jefferson's  private  servants,  Samson,  who  took 
the  young  man's  rein,  grinning  with  his  usual 
familiar  words  of  welcome  as  the  secretary  dismounted 
from  his  horse. 

"You-all  suttinly  did  warm  old  Arcturum  a  li'l  bit 
dis  mawnin',  Mistah  Mehywethah !" 

Samson  patted  the  neck  of  the  spirited  animal,  which 
tossed  its  head  and  turned  an  eye  to  its  late  rider. 

"Yes,  and  see  that  you  rub  him  well.  Mind  you, 
if  Mr.  Jefferson  finds  that  his  whitest  handkerchief 
shows  a  sweat-mark  from  the  horse's  hide  he  will  cut 
off  both  your  black  ears  for  you,  Samson — and  very 
likely  your  head  along  with  them.  You  know  your 
master !"  The  secretary  smiled  kindly  at  the  old  black 
man. 

"Yassah,  yassah,"  grinned  Samson,  who  no  more 
feared  Mr.  Jefferson  than  he  did  the  young  gentle 
man  with  whom  he  now  spoke.  "I  just  lookin'  at  you 
comin'  down  that  path  right  now,  and  I  say  to  myself, 
'Bar  come  a  ridah !'  I  sho'  did,  Mistah  Mehywethah !" 

The  young  man  answered  the  negro's  compliment 

36 


PRESIDENT    AND    SECRETARY 

with  one  of  his  rare  smiles,  then  turned,  with  just  a 
flick  of  his  gloves  on  his  breeches  legs,  and  marched 
up  the  walk  to  the  door  of  the  mansion. 

At  the  step  he  turned  and  paused,  as  he  usually  did, 
to  take  one  look  out  over  the  unfinished  wing  of  stone 
still  in  process  of  erection.  On  beyond,  in  the  ragged 
village,  he  saw  a  few  good  mansion  houses,  many 
structures  devoted  to  business,  many  jumbled  huts  of 
negroes,  and  here  and  there  a  public  building  in  its 
early  stages. 

The  great  system  of  boulevards  and  parks  and  cir 
cles  of  the  new  American  capital  was  not  yet  appar 
ent  from  the  place  where  Mr.  Thomas  Jefferson's 
young  secretary  now  stood.  But  the  young  man  per 
haps  saw  city  and  nation  alike  advanced  in  his  vision ; 
for  he  gazed  long  and  linger ingly  before  he  turned 
back  at  last  and  entered  the  door  which  the  old  house 
servant  swung  open  for  him. 

His  hat  and  crop  and  gloves  he  handed  to  this  bowed 
old  darky,  Ben — another  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  plantation 
servants  whom  he  had  brought  to  Washington  with 
him.  Then — for  such  was  the  simple  fashion  of  the 
menage,  where  Meriwether  Lewis  himself  was  one  of 
the  President's  family — he  stepped  to  the  door  beyond 
and  knocked  lightly,  entering  as  he  did  so. 

The  hour  was  early — he  himself  had  not  break 
fasted,  beyond  his  coffee  at  the  mill — but,  early  as  it 
was,  he  knew  he  would  find  at  his  desk  the  gentleman 
who  now  turned  to  him. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Jefferson,"  said  Meriwether 
Lewis,  in  the  greeting  which  he  always  used. 

37 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"Good  morning,  my  son,"  said  the  other  man,  gently, 
in  his  invariable  address  to  his  secretary.  "And  how 
did  Arcturus  perform  for  you  this  morning?" 

"Grandly,  sir.  He  is  a  fine  animal.  I  have  never 
ridden  a  better." 

"I  envy  you.  I  wish  I  could  find  the  time  I  once  had 
for  my  horses."  He  turned  a  whimsical  glance  at  the 
piled  desk  before  him.  "If  our  new  multigraph  could 
write  a  dozen  letters  all  at  once — and  on  as  many  dif 
ferent  themes,  my  son — we  might  perhaps  get  through. 
I  vow,  if  I  had  the  money,  I  would  have  a  dozen 
secretaries — if  I  could  find  them!" 

The  President  rose  now  and  stood,  a  tall  and  strik 
ing  figure  of  a  man,  over  six  feet  in  height,  of  clean- 
cut  features,  dark  hazel  eye,  and  sandy,  almost  au 
burn,  hair.  His  long,  thin  legs  were  clad  in  close- 
fitting  knee  breeches  of  green  velveteen,  somewhat 
stained.  His  high-collared  coat,  rolling  above  the 
loosely-tied  stock  which  girded  his  neck,  was  dingy 
brown  in  color,  and  lay  in  loose  folds.  He  was  one  of 
the  worst-clad  men  in  Washington  at  that  hour. 
His  waistcoat,  of  red,  was  soiled  and  far  from  new, 
and  his  woolen  stockings  were  covered  with  no  better 
footwear  than  carpet  slippers,  badly  down  at  the 
heel. 

Yet  Thomas  Jefferson,  even  clad  thus,  seemed  the 
great  man  that  he  was.  Stooped  though  his  shoulders 
were,  his  frame  was  so  strong,  his  eye  so  clear  and 
keen,  though  contemplative,  that  he  did  not  look  his 
years. 

Here  was  a  man,  all  said  who  knew  him,  of  whose 

38 


PRESIDENT    AND    SECRETARY 

large  soul  so  many  large  deeds  were  demanded  that 
he  had  no  time  for  little  and  inconsequent  things — 
indeed,  scarce  knew  that  they  existed.  To  think,  to 
feel,  to  create,  to  achieve — these  were  his  absorbing 
tasks;  and  so  exigent  were  the  demands  on  his  great 
intellectual  resources  that  he  seemed  never  to  know 
the  existence  of  a  personal  world. 

He  stood  careless,  slipshod,  at  the  side  of  a  desk 
cluttered  with  a  mass  of  maps,  papers,  letters  in  pack 
ets  or  spread  open.  There  were  writing  implements 
here,  scientific  instruments  of  all  sorts,  long  sheets 
of  specifications,  canceled  drafts,  pages  of  accounts — 
all  the  manifold  impedimenta  of  a  man  in  the  full 
swing  of  business  life.  It  might  have  been  the  desk 
of  any  mediocre  man;  yet  on  that  desk  lay  the  future 
of  a  people  and  the  history  of  a  world. 

He  stood,  just  a  trifle  stooped,  smiling  quizzically 
at  the  young  man,  yet  half  lovingly;  for  to  no  other 
being  in  the  world  did  he  ever  give  the  confidence  that 
he  accorded  Meriwether  Lewis. 

"I  do  not  see  how  I  could  be  President  without  you, 
Merne,  my  son,"  said  he,  employing  the  familiar  term 
that  Meriwether  Lewis  had  not  elsewhere  heard  used, 
except  by  his  mother.  "Look  what  we  must  do  to 
day!" 

The  young  secretary  turned  his  own  grave  eye  upon 
the  cluttered  desk;  but  it  was  not  dread  of  the  redoubt 
able  tasks  awaiting  him  that  gave  his  face  all  the  grav 
ity  it  bore. 

"Mr.  Jefferson — "  he  began,  but  paused,  for  he 
could  see  now  standing  before  him  his  friend,  the  man 

4  39 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

whom,  of  all  in  the  world,  he  loved,  and  the  man  who 
believed  in  him  and  loved  him. 

"Yes,  my  son?" 

"Your  burden  is  grievous  hard,  and  yet " 

"Yes,  my  son?" 

But  Meriwether  Lewis  could  not  speak  further. 
He  stood  now,  his  jaws  set  hard,  looking  out  of  the 
window. 

The  older  man  came  and  gently  laid  a  hand  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"Come,  come,  my  son,"  said  he,  his  own  voice  low 
and  of  a  kindness  it  could  assume  at  times.  "You  must 
not — you  must  not  yield  to  this,  I  say.  Shake  off  this 
melancholy  which  so  obsesses  you.  I  know  whence 
it  comes — your  father  gave  it  you,  and  you  are  not  to 
blame ;  but  you  have  more  than  your  father's  strength 
to  aid  you.  And  you  have  me,  your  friend,  who  can 
understand." 

Lewis  only  turned  on  him  an  eye  so  full  of  anguish 
as  caused  the  older  man  to  knit  his  brow  in  deep  con 
cern. 

"What  is  it,  Merne  ?"  he  demanded.  "Tell  me.  Ah, 
you  cannot  tell?  I  know!  'Tis  the  old  melancholy, 
and  something  more,  Merne,  my  boy.  Tell  me — an, 
yes,  it  is  a  woman!" 

The  young  man  did  not  speak. 

"I  have  often  told  all  my  young  friends,"  said  Mr. 
Jefferson  slowly,  after  a  time,  "that  they  should  marry 
not  later  than  twenty-three — it  is  wrong  to  cheat  the 
years  of  life — and  you  approach  thirty  now,  my  son. 
Why  linger  ?  Listen  to  me.  No  young  man  may  work 

40 


PRESIDENT    AND    SECRETARY 

at  his  best  and  have  a  woman's  face  in  his  desk  to 
haunt  him.  That  will  not  do.  We  all  have  handicap 
enough  without  that." 

But  still  Meriwether  could  only  look  into  the  face 
of  his  superior. 

"I  know  very  well,  my  son/'  the  President  contin 
ued.  "I  know  it  all.  Put  her  out  of  your  heart,  my 
boy.  Would  you  shame  yourself — and  her — and  me  ?" 

"No!  Never  would  I  do  that,  Mr.  Jefferson,  be 
lieve  me.  But  now  I  must  beg  of  you — please,  sir, 
let  me  go  soon — let  it  be  at  once !" 

The  older  man  stood  looking  at  him  for  a  time  in 
silence,  as  he  went  on  hurriedly : 

"I  must  say  good-by  to  you,  best  and  noblest  of  men. 
Indeed,  I  have  said  good-by  to — everything." 

"As  you  say,  your  case  is  hopeless?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Ah,  well,  we  have  both  been  planning  for  our  West 
ern  expedition  these  ten  years,  my  son ;  so  why  should 
we  fret  if  matters  conspire  to  bring  it  about  a  trifle 
earlier  than  we  planned?" 

"I  asked  you  when  I  was  a  boy  to  send  me,  but  you 
could  not  then." 

"No,  but  instead  I  sent  yonder  maundering  Michaux. 
He,  Ledyard,  and  all  the  others  failed  me.  They  never 
saw  the  great  vision.  There  it  lies,  unknown,  tremen 
dous — no  man  knows  what — that  new  country.  I  have 
had  to  hide  from  the  people  of  this  republic  this  secret 
purpose  which  you  and  I  have  had  of  exploring  the 
vast  Western  country.  I  have  picked  you  as  the  one 
man  fitted  for  that  work.  I  do  not  make  mistakes. 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

You  are  a  born  woodsman  and  traveler — you  are  ready 
to  my  hand  as  the  instrument  for  this  magnificent  ad 
venture.  I  cannot  well  spare  you  now — but  yes,  you 
must  go!" 

They  stood  there,  two  men  who  made  our  great 
adventure  for  us — vision-seers,  vision-owned,  gazing 
each  into  the  other's  eyes. 

"Send  me  now,  Mr.  Jefferson !"  repeated  Meri- 
wether  Lewis.  "Send  me  now.  I  will  mend  to  use 
fulness  again.  I  will  work  for  you  all  my  life,  if  need 
be — and  I  want  my  name  clear  with  you." 

The  old  man  laid  a  kindly  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"I  must  yield  you  to  your  destiny/'  said  he.  "It 
will  be  a  great  one."  He  turned  aside,  a  hand  to  his 
lip  as  he  paced  uncertainly.  "But  I  still  am  wonder 
ing  what  our  friends  are  doing  yonder  in  France,"  said 
he.  "That  is  the  question.  Livingston,  Monroe,  and 
the  others — what  are  they  doing  with  Napoleon  Bona 
parte?  The  news  from  France — but  stay,"  he  added. 
"Wait!  I  had  forgotten.  Come,  we  shall  see  about 
it!" 

With  the  sudden  enthusiasm  of  a  boy  he  caught  his 
young  aide  by  the  arm.  They  passed  down  the  hall, 
out  by  the  rear  entrance  and  across  the  White  House 
grounds  to  the  brick  stables  which  then  stood  at  the 
rear. 

Mr.  Jefferson  paid  no  attention  to  the  sleek  animals 
there  which  looked  in  greeting  toward  him.  Instead, 
he  passed  in  front  of  the  series  of  stalls,  and  without 
excuse  or  explanation  hurriedly  began  to  climb  the 
steep  ladder  which  led  to  the  floor  above. 

42 


PRESIDENT  AND  SECRETARY 

They  stood  at  length  in  the  upper  apartment  of  the 
stable  buildings.  It  was  not  a  mow  or  feed  loft,  but 
rather  a  bird  loft,  devoted  to  the  use  of  many  pigeons. 
All  about  the  eaves  were  arranged  many  boxes — nest 
ing  places,  apparently,  although  none  of  the  birds  en 
tered  the  long  room,  which  seemed  free  of  any  occu 
pancy. 

Mr.  Jefferson  stood  for  a  moment,  eagerly  scanning 
the  rear  of  the  tier  of  boxes.  An  exclamation  broke 
from  him.  He  hurried  forward  with  a  sudden  ges 
ture  to  a  little  flag  which  stood  up,  like  the  tilt  of  a 
fisherman  on  the  ice,  at  the  side  of  the  box  to  which 
he  pointed. 

"Done!"  said  he. 

He  reached  up  to  the  box  that  he  had  indicated, 
pressed  down  a  little  catch,  opened  the  back  and  looked 
in.  Again  an  exclamation  escaped  him. 

He  put  in  a  hand  gingerly,  and,  tenderly  imprison 
ing  the  bird  which  he  found  therein,  drew  it  forth,  his 
long  fingers  eagerly  lifting  its  wings,  examining  its 
legs. 

It  could  easily  be  seen  that  the  box  was  arranged 
with  a  door  on  a  tripping-latch,  so  that  the  pigeon,  on 
entering,  would  imprison  itself.  It  was  apparent  that 
Mr.  Jefferson  was  depending  upon  the  natural  hom 
ing  instinct  of  his  carrier  pigeons  to  bring  him  some 
message. 

"I  told  them,"  said  he,  "to  loose  a  half-dozen  birds 
at  once.  See!  See!" 

He  unrolled  from  one  leg  of  the  prisoner  a  little 
cylinder  of  paper  covered  with  tinfoil  and  tied  firmly 

43 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

in  its  place.  It  was  the  first  wireless  message  ever 
received  at  Washington.  None  since  that  time  has 
carried  a  greater  burden.  It  announced  a  transaction 
in  empires. 

Mr.  Jefferson  read,  and  spread  out  the  paper  that 
his  aide  might  read : 

General  Bonaparte  signed  May  2 — Fifteen  millions — Re 
joice  ! 

In  no  wider  phrasing  than  that  came  the  news  of  the 
great  Louisiana  Purchase,  by  virtue  of  which  this  re 
public — whether  by  chance,  by  result  of  greed  war 
ring  with  greed,  or  through  the  providence  of  Al 
mighty  God,  who  shall  say? — gained  the  great  part 
of  that  vast  and  incalculably  valuable  realm  which 
now  reaches  from  the  Mississippi  to  the  Pacific  Ocean. 
What  wealth  that  great  empire  held  no  man  had 
dreamed,  nor  can  any  dream  today;  for,  a  century 
later,  its  story  is  but  beginning. 

Century  on  century,  that  story  still  will  be  in  the 
making.  A  home  for  millions  of  the  earth's  best,  a 
hope  for  millions  of  the  earth's  less  fortunate — gran 
ary  of  the  peoples,  mint  of  the  nations,  birthplace  and 
growing-ground  of  the  new  race  of  men — who  could 
have  measured  that  land  then — who  could  measure  it 
today  ? 

And  its  title  passed,  announced  in  seven  words,  car 
ried  by  a  bird  wandering  in  the  air,  but  bound  uner 
ringly  to  the  ark  of  God's  covenant  with  man — the 
covenant  of  hope  and  progress. 

Thomas  Jefferson  stretched  out  his  right  hand  to 

44 


PRESIDENT    AND    SECRETARY 

meet  that  of  Meriwether  Lewis.     Their  clasp  was 
strong  and  firm.    The  eye  of  each  man  blazed. 

"Mr.  Jefferson,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis,  "this  is 
your  monument !" 

"And  yours,"  was  the  reply.     "Come,  then !" 

He  turned  to  the  stairs,  the  pigeon  still  fondled  in 
his  arm.  That  bird — a  white  one,  with  slate-blue 
tips  to  its  wings — never  needed  to  labor  again,  for  Mr. 
Jefferson  kept  it  during  its  life,  and  long  after  its 
death. 

"Come  now,"  he  said,  as  he  began  to  descend  the 
ladder  once  more.  "The  bird  was  loosed  yesterday, 
late  in  the  afternoon.  It  has  done  its  sixty  or  seventy- 
five  miles  an  hour  for  us,  counting  out  time  lost  in 
the  night.  The  ship  which  brought  this  news  docked 
at  New  York  yesterday.  The  post  stages  carrying  it 
hither  cannot  arrive  before  tomorrow.  This  is  news' 
— the  greatest  of  news  that  we  could  have.  Yester 
day — this  morning — we  were  a  young  and  weak  re 
public.  Tomorrow  we  shall  be  one  of  the  powers  of 
the  world.  Go,  now — you  have  been  held  in  leash 
long  enough,  and  the  time  to  start  has  come.  Tomor 
row  you  will  go  westward,  to  that  new  country  which 
now  is  ours !" 

Neither  said  anything  further  until  once  again  they 
were  in  the  President's  little  office-room;  but  Thomas 
Jefferson's  eye  now  was  afire. 

"I  count  this  the  most  important  enterprise  in  which 
this  country  ever  was  engaged,"  he  exclaimed,  his 
hands  clenched.  "Yonder  lies  the  greater  America — 
you  lead  an  army  which  will  make  far  wider  conquest 

45 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

than  all  our  troops  won  in  the  Revolutionary  War. 
The  stake  is  larger  than  any  man  may  dream.  I  see 
it — you  see  it — in  time  others  also  will  see.  Tell  me, 
my  son,  tell  me  once  more !  Come  what  may,  no  mat 
ter  what  power  shall  move  you,  you  will  be  faithful  in 
this  great  trust  ?  If  I  have  your  promise,  then  I  shall 
rest  assured." 

Thomas  Jefferson,  more  agitated  than  any  man  had 
ever  seen  him,  dropped  half  trembling  into  his  chair, 
his  shaggy  red  mane  about  his  forehead,  his  long  rin 
gers  shaking. 

"I  give  you  my  promise,  Mr.  Jefferson,"  said  Meri- 
wether  Lewis. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE  PELL-MELL  AND   SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

IT  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  secretary  to 
the  President  looked  up  from  the  crowded  desk. 
"Mr.  Jefferson,"  ventured  he,  "you  will  pardon 
me " 

"Yes,  my  son?" 

"It  grows  late.  You  know  that  today  the  British 
minister,  Mr.  Merry,  comes  to  meet  the  President  for 
the  first  time  formally — at  dinner.  Senor  Yrujo 
also — and  their  ladies,  of  course.  Mr.  Burr  and  Mr. 
Merry  seem  already  acquainted.  I  met  them  riding 
this  morning." 

"Hand  and  glove,  then,  so  soon?  What  do  you 
make  of  it?  I  have  a  guess  that  those  three — Burr, 
Merry,  Yrujo — mean  this  administration  no  special 
good.  And  yet  it  was  I  myself  who  kept  our  Spanish 
friend  from  getting  his  passports  back  to  Madrid.  I 
did  that  only  because  of  his  marriage  to  the  daughter 
of  my  friend,  Governor  McKean,  of  Pennsylvania. 
But  what  were  you  saying  now?" 

"I  thought  perhaps  I  should  go  to  my  rooms  to 
change  for  dinner.  You  see  that  I  am  still  in  riding- 
clothes." 

47 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"And  what  of  that,  my  son?  I  am  in  something 
worse !" 

The  young  man  stood  and  looked  at  his  chief  for 
a  moment.  He  realized  the  scarce  dignified  figure 
that  the  President  presented  in  his  long  coat,  his  soiled 
waistcoat,  his  stained  trousers,  and  his  woolen  stock 
ings — not  to  mention  the  unspeakable  slippers,  down 
at  the  heel,  into  which  he  had  thrust  his  feet  that 
morning  when  he  came  into  the  office. 

"You  think  I  will  not  do?"  Mr.  Jefferson  smiled  at 
him  frankly.  "I  am  not  so  free  from  wisdom,  per 
haps,  after  all.  Let  this  British  minister  see  us  as  we 
are,  for  men  and  women,  and  not  dummies  for  finery. 
Moreover,  I  remember  well  enough  how  we  cooled 
our  heels  there  in  London,  Mr.  Madison  and  myself. 
They  showed  us  little  courtesy  enough.  Well,  they 
shall  have  no  complaint  here.  We  will  treat  them  as 
well  as  we  do  the  others,  as  well  as  the  electors  who 
sent  us  here !" 

Meriwether  Lewis  allowed  himself  a  smile. 

"Go,"  added  his  chief.  "Garb  yourself  as  I  would 
have  you — in  your  best.  But  there  will  be  no  prece 
dence  at  table  this  evening — remember  that!  Let 
them  take  seats  pell-mell — the  devil  take  the  hindmost 
— a  fair  field  for  every  one,  and  favor  to  none !  Seat 
them  as  nearly  as  possible  as  they  should  not  be  seated 
— and  leave  the  rest  to  me.  All  these — indeed,  all  his 
tory  and  all  the  records — shall  take  me  precisely  as  I 
am!" 

An  hour  later  Meriwether  Lewis  stood  before  his 
narrow  mirror,  well  and  handsomely  clad,  as  was 


THE  PELL-MELL  AND  SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

seeming  with  one  of  his  family  and  his  place — a  tall 
and  superb  figure  of  young  manhood,  as  proper  a  man 
as  ever  stood  in  buckled  shoes  in  any  country  of  the 
world. 

The  guests  came  presently,  folk  of  many  sorts. 
With  Mr.  Jefferson  as  President,  the  democracy  of 
America  had  invaded  Washington,  taking  more  and 
more  liberties,  and  it  had  many  representatives  on 
hand.  With  these  came  persons  of  rank  of  this  and 
other  lands,  dignitaries,  diplomats,  officials,  ministers 
of  foreign  powers.  Carriages  with  outriders  came 
trundling  over  the  partially  paved  roads  of  the  crude 
capital  city.  Footmen  opened  doors  to  gentlemen  and 
ladies  in  full  dress,  wearing  insignia  of  honor,  dis 
playing  gems,  orders,  decorations,  jewels,  all  the  bril 
liant  costumes  of  the  European  courts. 

They  came  up  the  path  to  the  door  of  the  mansion 
where,  to  their  amazement,  they  were  met  only  by 
Mr.  Jefferson's  bowing  old  darky  Ben,  who  ushered 
them  in,  helped  them  with  their  wraps  and  asked  them 
to  make  themselves  at  home.  And  only  old  Henry, 
Mr.  Jefferson's  butler,  bowed  them  in  as  they  passed 
from  the  simple  entrance  hall  into  the  anteroom 
which  lay  between  the  hall  and  the  large  dining- 
saloon. 

The  numbers  increased  rapidly.  What  at  first  was 
a  general  gathering  became  a  crowd,  then  a  mob. 
There  was  no  assigned  place  for  any,  no  presentation 
of  one  stranger  to  another.  Friends  could  not  find 
friends.  Mutterings  arose ;  crowding1  and  jostling  was 
not  absent ;  here  and  there  an  angry  word  might  have 

49 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

been  heard.  The  policy  of  pell-mell  was  not  working 
itself  out  in  any  happy  social  fashion. 

Matters  were  at  their  worst  when  suddenly  from  his 
own  apartments  appeared  the  tall  and  well-composed 
figure  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  young  secretary,  social  cap 
tain  of  matters  at  the  Executive  Mansion,  and  per 
sonal  aide  to  the  President.  His  quick  glance  caught 
sight  of  the  gathering  line  of  carriages;  a  second 
glance  estimated  the  plight  of  those  now  jammed  into 
the  anteroom  like  so  many  cattle  and  evidently  in 
distress. 

In  a  distant  corner  of  the  room,  crowded  into 
some  sort  of  refuge  back  of  a  huge  davenport,  stood 
a  small  group  of  persons  in  full  official  dress — a  group 
evidently  ill  at  ease  and  no  longer  in  good  humor. 
Meriwether  Lewis  made  his  way  thither  rapidly  as  he 
might. 

"It  is  Mr.  Minister  Merry,"  said  he,  "and  Mme. 
Merry."  He  bowed  deeply.  "Sefior  and  Senora 
Yrujo,  I  bring  you  the  respects  of  Mr.  Jefferson.  He 
will  be  with  us  presently." 

"I  had  believed,  sir — I  understood,"  began  Merry 
explosively,  "that  we  were  to  meet  here  the  President 
of  the  United  States.  Where,  then,  is  his  suite?" 

"We  have  no  suite,  sir.  I  represent  the  President 
as  his  aide." 

"My  word!"  murmured  the  mystified  dignitary, 
turning  to  his  lady,  who  stood,  the  picture  of  mute 
anger,  at  his  side,  the  very  aigrets  on  her  ginger-col 
ored  hair  trembling  in  her  anger. 

They  turned  once  more  to  the  Spanish  minister, 

50 


THE  PELL-MELL  AND  SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

who,  with  his  American  wife,  stood  at  hand.  There 
ensued  such  shrugs  and  liftings  of  eyebrows  as  left  full 
evidence  of  a  discontent  that  none  of  the  four  at 
tempted  to  suppress. 

Meriwether  Lewis  saw  and  noted,  but  seemed  not 
to  note.  Mr.  Merry  suddenly  remembered  him  now 
as  the  young  man  he  had  encountered  that  morning, 
and  turned  with  an  attempt  at  greater  civility. 

"You  will  understand,  sir,  that  I  came  supposing 
I  was  to  appear  in  my  official  capacity.  We  were  in 
vited  upon  that  basis.  There  was  to  have  been  a  din 
ner,  was  there  not— or  am  I  mistaken  of  the  hour? 
Is  it  not  four  in  the  afternoon?" 

"You  were  quite  right,  Mr.  Minister/'  said  Meri 
wether  Lewis.  "You  shall,  of  course,  be  presented 
to  the  President  so  soon  as  it  shall  please  his  conve 
nience  to  join  us.  He  has  been  occupied  in  many 
duties,  and  begs  you  will  excuse  him/' 

The  dignity  and  courtesy  of  the  young  man  were 
not  without  effect.  Silence,  at  least,  was  his  reward 
from  the  perturbed  and  indignant  group  of  diplomats 
penned  behind  the  davenport. 

Matters  stood  thus  when,  at  a  time  when  scarce  an 
other  soul  could  have  been  crowded  into  the  anteroom, 
old  Henry  flung  open  the  folding  doors  which  he  had 
closed. 

"Mistah  Thomas  Jeffahson!"  was  his  sole  announce 
ment. 

There  appeared  in  the  doorway  the  tall,  slightly 
stooped  figure  of  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
one  of  the  greatest  men  of  his  own  or  of  any  day.  He 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

stood,  gravely  unconscious  of  himself,  tranquilly  look 
ing  out  upon  his  gathered  guests.  He  was  still  clad 
in  the  garb  which  he  had  worn  throughout  the  day — 
the  same  in  which  he  had  climbed  to  the  pigeon  loft 
— the  same  in  which  he  had  labored  during  all  these 
long  hours. 

His  coat  was  still  brown  and  wrinkled,  hanging 
loosely  on  his  long  frame.  His  trousers  were  the 
stained  velveteens  of  the  morning;  his  waistcoat  the 
same  faded  red;  his  hose  the  slack  woolen  pair  that 
he  had  worn  throughout  the  day.  And  upon  his  feet 
— horror  of  horrors! — he  wore  still  his  slippers,  the 
same  old  carpet  slippers,  dowrn  at  the  heel,  which  had 
afforded  him  ease  as  he  sat  at  his  desk. 

As  Thomas  Jefferson  stood,  he  overtopped  the  men 
about  him  head  and  shoulders  in  physical  stature,  as 
he  did  in  every  other  measure  of  a  man. 

Innocent  or  unconscious  of  his  own  appearance,  his 
eye  seeking  for  knowledge  of  his  guests,  he  caught 
sight  of  the  group  behind  the  davenport.  Rapidly 
making  his  way  thither,  he  greeted  each,  offering  his 
hand  to  be  shaken,  bowing  deeply  to  the  ladies ;  and  so 
quickly  passed  on,  leaving  them  almost  as  much  mys 
tified  as  before.  Only  Yrujo,  the  Spanish  Minister, 
looked  after  him  with  any  trace  of  recognition,  for 
at  this  moment  Meriwether  Lewis  was  away,  among 
other  guests. 

An  instant  later  the  curtained  folding  doors  which 
separated  the  anteroom  from  the  dining-saloon  were 
thrown  open.  Mr.  Jefferson  passed  in  and  took  his 
place  at  the  head  of  the  table,  casting  not  a  single  look 

52 


THE  PELL-MELL  AND  SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

toward  any  who  were  to  join  him  there.  There  \vas 
no  announcement;  there  was  no  pas,  no  precedence, 
no  reserved  place  for  any  man,  no  announcement  for 
any  lady  or  gentleman,  no  servant  to  escort  any  to  a 
place  at  table! 

It  had  been  worse,  far  worse,  this  extraordinary 
scene,  had  it  not  been  for  the  swiftness  and  tact  of  the 
young  man  to  whom  so  much  was  entrusted.  Men- 
wether  Lewis  hastened  here  and  there,  weeding  out 
those  who  could  not  convince  him  that  they  were  in 
vited  to  dine.  He  separated  as  best  he  might  the  so 
cially  elect  from  those  not  yet  socially  arrived,  until 
at  length  he  stood,  almost  the  sole  barrier  against  those 
who  still  crowded  forward. 

Here  he  was  met  once  more  by  the  party  from  be 
hind  the  davenport. 

"Tell  me,"  demanded  Mr.  Merry,  who — seeing  that 
no  other  escort  offered  for  her — had  given  his  angry 
lady  his  own  arm,  "tell  me,  sir,  where  is  the  President  ? 
To  whom  shall  I  present  the  greetings  of  his  British 
Majesty?" 

"Yonder  is  the  President  of  the  United  States,  sir," 
said  Meriwether  Lewis.  "He  with  whom  you  shook 
hands  is  the  President.  He  stands  at  the  head  of  his 
table,  and  you  are  welcome  if  you  like.  He  asks  you 
to  enter." 

Merry  turned  to  his  wife,  and  from  her  to  the  wife 
of  the  Spanish  minister. 

"Impossible!"  said  he.  "I  do  not  understand — it 
cannot  be!  That  man — that  extraordinary  man  in 
breeches  and  slippers  yonder — it  cannot  be  he  asks  us 

53 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

to  sit  at  table  with  him!  He  cannot  be  the  President 
of  the  United  States!" 

"None  the  less  he  is,  Mr.  Merry!"  the  secretary 
assured  him. 

"Good  Heavens!"  said  the  minister  from  Great 
Britain,  as  he  passed  on,  half  dazed. 

By  this  time  there  remained  but  few  seats,  none  at 
all  toward  the  head  of  the  table  or  about  its  middle 
portion.  Toward  the  end  of  the  room,  farthest  from 
the  official  host,  a  few  chairs  still  stood  vacant,  because 
they  had  not  been  sought  for.  Thither,  with  faltering 
footsteps,  ere  even  these  opportunities  should  pass, 
stepped  the  minister  from  Great  Britain  and  the  min 
ister  from  Spain,  their  ladies  with  them — none  offer 
ing  escort. 

Well  disposed  to  smile  at  his  chief's  audacious  over 
turning  of  all  social  usage,  yet  not  unadvised  of  the 
seriousness  of  all  this,  Meriwether  Lewis  handed  the 
distinguished  guests  to  their  seats  as  best  he  might; 
and  then  left  them  as  best  he  might. 

At  that  time  there  were  not  six  vacant  places  re 
maining  at  the  long  table.  No  one  seemed  to  know 
how  many  had  been  invited  to  the  banquet,  or  how 
many  were  expected — no  one  in  the  company  seemed 
to  know  anyone  else.  It  was  indeed  a  pell-mell 
affair. 

For  once  the  'American  democracy  was  triumphant. 
But  the  leader  of  that  democracy,  the  head  of  the  new 
administration,  the  host  at  this  official  banquet,  the 
President  of  the  United  States,  Thomas  Jefferson, 
stood  quietly,  serenely,  looking  out  over  the  long  table, 

54 


THE  PELL-MELL  AND  SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

entirely  unconcerned  with  what  he  saw.  If  there  was 
trouble,  it  was  for  others,  not  for  him. 

Those  at  table  presently  began  to  seat  themselves, 
following  the  host's  example.  It  was  at  this  moment 
that  the  young  captain  of  affairs  turned  once  more 
toward  the  great  doors,  with  the  intention  of  closing 
them.  Old  Henry  was  having  his  own  battles  with 
the  remaining  audience  in  the  anteroom,  as  he  now 
brought  forward  two  belated  guests.  Old  Henry,  be 
sure,  knew  them  both;  and — as  a  look  at  the  sudden 
change  of  his  features  might  have  told — so  did  Mr. 
Jefferson's  aide. 

They  advanced  with  dignity,  these  two — one  a 
gentleman,  not  tall,  but  elegant,  exquisitely  clad  in 
full-dress  costume;  a  man  whom  you  would  have 
turned  to  examine  a  second  time  had  you  met  him  any 
where.  Upon  his  arm  was  a  young  woman,  also 
beautifully  costumed,  smiling,  graceful,  entirely  at  her 
ease.  Many  present  knew  the  two — Aaron  Burr, 
Vice-President  of  the  United  States;  his  daughter,. 
Theodosia  Burr  Alston. 

Mr.  Burr  passed  within  the  great  doors,  turned  and 
bowed  deeply  to  his  host,  distant  as  he  was  across  the 
crowded  room.  His  daughter  curtsied,  also  deeply. 
Their  entry  was  dramatic.  Then  they  stood,  a  some 
what  stately  picture,  waiting  for  an  instant  while  seem 
ingly  deciding  their  future  course. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Meriwether  Lewis  ap 
proached  them,  beckoning.  He  led  them  toward  the 
few  seats  that  still  remained  unoccupied,  placed  them 
near  to  the  official  visitors,  whose  ruffled  feathers  still 

5  55 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

remained  unsmoothed,  and  then  stood  by  them  for  an 
instant,  intending  to  take  his  departure. 

There  was  one  remaining  chair.  It  was  at  the  side 
of  Theodosia  Alston.  She  herself  looked  up  at  him 
eagerly,  and  patted  it  with  her  hand.  He  seated  him 
self  at  her  side. 

Thus  at  last  was  filled  the  pell-mell  table  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Jefferson.  To  this  day  no  man  knows 
whether  all  present  had  been  invited,  or  whether  all 
invited  had  opportunity  to  be  present. 

There  were  those — his  enemies,  men  of  the  oppos 
ing  political  party,  for  the  most  part — who  spoke  ill 
of  Mr.  Jefferson,  and  charged  that  he  showed  hypoc 
risy  in  his  pretense  of  democratic  simplicity  in  official 
life.  Yet  others,  even  among  his  friends,  criticised 
him  severely  for  the  affair  of  this  afternoon — July  4, 
in  the  year  of  1803.  They  said  that  his  manners  were 
inconsistent  with  the  dignity  of  the  highest  official  of 
this  republic. 

If  any  of  this  comment  injured  or  offended  Mr.  Jef 
ferson,  he  never  gave  a  sign.  He  was  born  a  gentle 
man  as  much  as  any,  and  was  as  fully  acquainted  with 
good  social  usage  as  any  man  of  his  day.  His  life 
had  been  spent  in  the  best  surroundings  of  his  own 
country,  and  at  the  most  polished  courts  of  the  Old 
World.  To  accuse  him  of  ignorance  or  boorishness 
would  have  been  absurd. 

The  fact  was  that  his  own  resourceful  brain  had 
formed  a  definite  plan.  He  wished  to  convey  a  certain 
rebuke — and  with  deadly  accuracy  he  did  convey  that 
rebuke.  It  was  at  no  enduring  cost  to  his  own  fame. 

If  the  pell-mell  dinner  was  at  first  a  thing  inchoate, 

56 


THE  PELL-MELL  AND  SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

awkward,  impossible,  criticism  halted  when  the  actual 
service  at  table  began.  The  chef  at  the  White  House 
had  been  brought  to  this  country  by  Mr.  Jefferson  from 
Paris,  and  no  better  was  known  on  this  side  the  water. 
So  devoted  was  Mr.  Jefferson  known  to  be  to  the 
French  style  of  cooking  that  no  less  a  man  than  Pat 
rick  Henry,  on  the  stump,  had  accused  him  of  having 
"deserted  the  victuals  of  his  country."  His  table  was 
set  and  served  with  as  much  elegance  as  any  at  any 
foreign  court.  At  the  door  of  the  city  of  Washing 
ton,  even  in  the  summer  season,  there  was  the  best 
market  of  the  world.  As  submitted  by  his  chef  de 
cuisine,  Mr.  Jefferson's  menu  was  of  no  pell-mell  sort. 
If  we  may  credit  it  as  handed  down,  it  ran  thus,  in 
the  old  French  of  that  day : 


Huitres  de  Shinnecock,  Saulce  Tempete 

Olives  du  Luc 
Othon  Marine  a  1'Huile  Vierge 

Amandes  et  Cerneaux  sales 
Pot  au  Feu  du  R:y  "Henriot" 

Croustade  Mogador 
Truite  de  Ruisselet,  Belle  Meuniere 

Pommes  en  Fines  Herbes 

Fricot  de  tendre  Poulet  en  Coquemare,  au  Vieux  Chanturgne 

Tourte  de  Ris  de  Veau,  Financiere 

Baron  de  Pre  Sale  aux  Primeurs 

Sorbet  des  Comtes  de  Champagne 

Dinde  Sauvage  flambee  devant  les  Sarments  de  Vigne, 

flanquee  d'Ortolans 

Aspic  de  Foie  Gras  Lucullus 

Salade  des  Nymphes  a  la  Lamballe 

Asperges  Chauldes  enduites  de  Sauce 

Lombardienne 
Dessert  et  Fruits  de  la  Reunion 

57 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Fromage  de  Bique 

Cafe  Arabe 
Larmes  de  Juliette 

Whatever  the  wines  served  at  the  Executive  Man 
sion  may  have  been  at  later  dates,  those  owned  and 
used  by  President  Jefferson  were  the  best  the  world 
produced — vintages  of  rarity,  selected  as  could  have 
been  done  only  by  one  of  the  nicest  taste.  Rumor  had 
it  that  none  other  than  Seiior  Yrujo,  minister  from 
Spain,  recipient  of  many  casks  of  the  best  vintages 
of  his  country  that  he  might  entertain  with  proper 
dignity,  had  seen  fit  to  do  a  bit  of  merchandizing  on 
his  own  account,  to  the  end  that  Mr.  Jefferson  became 
the  owner  of  certain  of  these  rare  casks. 

In  any  event,  the  Spanish  minister  now  showed  no 
fear  of  the  wines  which  came  his  way.  Nor,  for  that 
matter,  did  the  minister  from  Great  Britain,  nor  the 
spouses  of  these  twain.  Mr.  Burr,  seated  with  their 
party,  himself  somewhat  abstemious,  none  the  less 
could  not  refrain  from  an  interrogatory  glance  as  he 
saw  Merry  halt  a  certain  bottle  or  two  at  his  own 
plate. 

"Upon  my  word !"  said  the  sturdy  Briton,  turning  to 
him.  "Such  wine  I  never  have  tasted !  I  did  not  ex 
pect  it  here — served  by  a  host  in  breeches  and  slippers ! 
But  never  mind — it  is  wonderful !" 

"There  may  be  many  things  here  you  have  not  ex 
pected,  your  excellency,"  said  Mr.  Burr. 

The  Vice-President  favored  the  little  party  at  his 
left  with  one  of  his  brilliant  smiles.  He  had  that 
strange  faculty,  admitted  even  by  his  enemies,  of  mak- 


THE  PELL-MELL  AND  SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

ing  another  speak  freely  what  he  wished  to  hear,  him 
self  reticent  the  while. 

The  face  of  the  English  dignitary  clouded  again. 

"I  wish  I  could  approve  all  else  as  I  do  the  wine 
and  the  food ;  but  I  cannot  understand.  Here  we  sit, 
after  being  crowded  like  herrings  in  a  box — myself, 
my  lady  here,  and  these  others.  Is  this  the  placing 
his  Majesty's  minister  should  have  at  the  President's 
table?  Is  this  what  we  should  demand  here?" 

"The  indignity  is  to  all  of  us  alike,"  smiled  Burr. 
"Mr.  Jefferson  believes  in  a  great  human  democracy. 
I  myself  regret  to  state  that  I  cannot  quite  go  with 
him  to  the  lengths  he  fancies/' 

"I  shall  report  the  entire  matter  to  his  Majesty's 
government!"  said  Mr.  Merry,  again  helping  himself 
to  wine.  "To  be  received  here  by  a  man  in  his  stable 
clothes — so  to  meet  us  when  we  come  formally  to  pay 
our  call  to  this  government — that  is  an  insult !  I  fancy 
it  to  be  a  direct  and  intentional  one." 

"Insult  is  small  word  for  it,"  broke  in  the  irate  Span 
ish  minister,  still  further  down  the  table.  "I  certainly 
shall  report  to  my  own  government  what  has  hap 
pened  here — of  that  be  very  sure !" 

"Give  me  leave,  sir,"  continued  Merry.  "This  re 
public,  what  is  it?  What  has  it  done?" 

"I  ask  as  much,"  affirmed  Yrujo.  "A  small  war 
with  your  own  country,  Great  Britain,  sir — in  which 
only  your  generosity  held  you  back — that  is  all  this 
country  can  claim.  In  the  South,  my  people  own  the 
mouth  of  the  great  river — we  own  Florida — we  own 
the  province  of  Texas — all  the  Southern  and  Western 

59 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

lands.  True,  Louis  XV — to  save  it  from  Great  Brit 
ain,  perhaps,  sir" — he  bowed  to  the  British  minister — 
"originally  ceded  Louisiana  to  our  crown.  True,  also, 
my  sovereign  has  ceded  it  again  to  France.  But  Spain 
still  rules  the  South,  just  as  Britain  rules  the  middle 
country  out  beyond;  and  what  is  left?  I  snap  my 
fingers  at  this  republic!'* 

Senor  Yrujo  helped  himself  to  a  brimming  glass  of 
his  own  wine. 

"I  say  that  Western  country  is  ours/'  he  still  in 
sisted,  warming  to  his  oration  now.  "Suppose,  under 
coercion,  our  sovereign  did  cede  it  to  Napoleon,  who 
claims  it  now?  Does  Spain  not  govern  it  still?  Do 
we  not  collect  the  revenues?  Is  not  the  whole  system 
of  law  enforced  under  the  flag  of  Spain,  all  along 
the  great  river  yonder?  Possession,  exploration,  dis 
covery — those  are  the  rights  under  which  territories 
are  annexed.  France  has  the  title  to  that  West,  but 
we  hold  the  land  itself — we  administer  it.  And 
never  shall  it  go  from  under  our  flag,  unless  it  be 
through  the  act  of  stronger  foreign  powers.  Spain 
will  fight !" 

"Will  Spain  fight  ?"  demanded  a  deep  and  melodious 
voice.  It  was  that  of  Aaron  Burr  who  spoke  now, 
half  in  query,  half  in  challenge.  "Would  Spain  fight 
— and  would  Great  Britain,  if  need  were  and  the  time 
came?" 

He  spoke  to  men  heated  with  wine,  smarting  under 
social  indignity,  men  owning  a  hurt  personal  vanity. 

"Our  past  is  proof  enough,"  said  Merry  proudly. 

Yrujo  needed  no  more  than  a  shrug. 

60 


THE  PELL-MELL  AND  SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

"Divide  and  conquer?"  Burr  went  on,  looking  at 
them,  and  raising  an  eyebrow  in  query. 

They  nodded,  both  of  them.  Burr  looked  around. 
His  daughter  and  Meriwether  Lewis  were  oblivious. 
He  saw  the  young  man's  eyes,  somber,  deep,  fixed  on 
hers ;  saw  her  gazing  in  return,  silent,  troubled,  fasci 
nated. 

One  presumes  that  it  was  at  this  moment — at  the 
instant  when  Aaron  Burr,  seeing  the  power  his  daugh 
ter  held  over  young  Meriwether  Lewis,  and  the  in 
terest  he  held  for  her,  turned  to  these  foreign  officials 
at  his  left — at  that  moment,  let  us  say,  the  Burr  con 
spiracy  began. 

"Divide  that  unknown  country,  the  West,  and  how 
long  would  this  republic  endure?"  said  Aaron  Burr. 

The  noise  of  the  banquet  now  rose  about  them. 
Voices  blended  with  laughter;  the  wine  was  passing; 
awkwardness  and  restraint  had  given  way  to  good 
cheer.  In  a  manner  they  were  safe  to  talk. 

"What  ?"  demanded  Aaron  Burr  once  more.  "Could 
a  few  francs  transfer  all  that  marvelous  country  from 
Spain  to  France?  That  were  absurd.  By  what  pos 
sible  title  could  that  region  yonder  ever  come  to  this 
republic?  It  is  still  more  absurd  to  think  that.  Civil 
ization  does  not  leap  across  great  river  valleys.  It 
follows  them.  You  have  said  rightly,  Sefior  Yrujo. 
To  my  mind  Great  Britain  has  laid  fair  grasp  upon 
the  upper  West ;  and  Spain  holds  the  lower  West,  with 
which  our  statesmen  have  interested  themselves  of 
late.  By  all  the  rights  of  conquest,  discovery,  and  use, 
gentlemen,  Great  Britain's  traders  have  gained  for  her 

6r 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

flag  all  the  territory  which  they  have  reached  on  their 
Western  trading  routes.  I  go  with  you  that  far." 

Merry  turned  upon  Burr  suddenly  a  deep  and  esti 
mating  eye. 

"I  begin  to  see,"  said  he,  "that  you  are  open  to  con 
viction,  Mr.  Burr." 

"Not  open  to  conviction,"  said  Aaron  Burr,  "but 
already  convinced!" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Colonel  Burr?"  The  English 
man  bent  toward  him,  frowning  in  intentness. 

"I  mean  that  perhaps  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you  two  gentlemen  of  the  foreign  courts  which  will 
be  of  interest  and  importance  to  you." 

"Where,  then,  could  we  meet  after  this  is  over?" 

The  minister  from  Great  Britain  surely  was  not  be 
yond  close  and  ready  estimate  of  events. 

"At  my  residence,  after  this  dinner,"  rejoined  Aaron 
Burr  instantly.  His  eye  did  not  waver  as  it  looked 
into  the  other's,  but  blazed  with  all  the  fire  of  his  own 
soul.  "Across  the  Alleghanies,  along  the  great  river, 
there  is  a  land  waiting,  ready  for  strong  men.  Are 
we  such  men,  gentlemen?  And  can  we  talk  freely  as 
such  among  ourselves?" 

Their  conversation,  carried  on  in  ordinary  tones,  had 
not  been  marked  by  any.  Their  brows,  drawn  sharp 
in  sudden  resolution,  their  glance  each  to  the  other, 
made  their  ratification  of  this  extraordinary  speech. 

They  had  no  time  for  anything  further  at  the  mo 
ment.  A  sound  came  to  their  ears,  and  they  turned 
toward  the  head  of  the  long  table,  where  the  tall  figure 
of  the  President  of  the  United  States  was  rising  in 

62 


THE  PELL-MELL  AND  SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

his  place.     The  dinner  had  drawn  toward  its  close. 

Mr.  Jefferson  now  stood,  gravely  regarding  those 
before  him,  his  keen  eye  losing  no  detail  of  the  strange 
scene.  He  knew  the  place  of  every  man  and  woman 
at  that  board — perhaps  this  was  his  own  revenge  for 
a  reception  he  once  had  had  at  London.  But  at  last 
he  spoke. 

"I  have  news  for  you  all,  my  friends,  today;  news 
which  applies  not  to  one  man  nor  to  one  woman  of 
this  or  any  country  more  than  to  another,  but  news 
which  belongs  to  all  the  world." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  held  up  in  his  right 
hand  a  tiny  scrap  of  paper,  thin,  crumpled.  None 
could  guess  what  significance  it  had. 

"May  God  in  His  own  power  punish  me/'  said  he, 
solemnly,  "if  ever  I  halt  or  falter  in  what  I  believe 
to  be  my  duty!  I  place  no  bounds  to  the  future  of 
this  republic — based,  as  I  firmly  believe  it  to  be,  upon 
the  enduring  principle  of  the  just  and  even  rights  of 
mankind. 

"Our  country  to  the  West  always  has  inspired  me 
with  the  extremest  curiosity,  and  animated  me  with 
the  loftiest  hopes.  Since  the  year  1683  that  great  river, 
the  Missouri,  emptying  into  the  Mississippi,  has  been 
looked  upon  as  the  way  to  the  Pacific  Ocean.  One 
hundred  years  from  that  time — that  is  to  say,  in  1783 
— I  myself  asked  one  of  the  ablest  of  our  Westerners, 
none  other  than  General  George  Rogers  Clark,  to  un 
dertake  a  journey  of  exploration  up  that  Western 
river.  It  was  not  done.  Three  years  later,  when  ac 
credited  to  the  court  at  Paris,  I  met  a  Mr.  Ledyard, 

63 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

an  American  then  abroad.  I  desired  him  to  cross  Rus 
sia,  Siberia  and  the  Pacific  Ocean,  and  then  to  journey 
eastward  over  the  Stony  Mountains,  to  find,  if  he 
could,  the  head  of  that  Missouri  River  of  which  we 
know  so  little.  But  Ledyard  failed,  for  reasons  best 
known,  perhaps,  to  the  monarch  of  Russia. 

"Later  than  that,  and  long  before  I  had  the  power 
which  now  is  mine  to  order  matters  of  the  sort,  the 
Boston  sailor,  Captain  Grey,  in  1792,  as  you  know, 
found  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia  River.  The  very 
next  year  after  that  I  engaged  the  scientist  Michaux 
to  explore  in  that  direction ;  but  he  likewise  failed. 

"All  my  life  I  have  seen  what  great  opportunities 
would  be  ours  if  once  we  owned  that  vast  country 
yonder.  As  a  private  citizen  I  planned  that  we  should 
at  least  explore  it — always  it  was  my  dream  to  know 
more  of  it.  It  being  clear  to  me  that  the  future  of 
our  republic  lay  not  to  the  east,  but  to  the  west  of  the 
Alleghanies — indeed,  to  the  west  of  the  Mississippi  it 
self — never  have  I  relinquished  the  ambition  that  I 
have  so  long  entertained.  Never  have  I  forgotten  the 
dream  which  animated  me  even  in  my  younger  years. 
I  am  here  now  to  announce  to  you,  so  that  you  may 
announce  to  all  the  world,  certain  news  which  I  have 
here  regarding  that  Western  region,  which  never  was 
ours,  but  which  I  always  wished  might  be  ours." 

With  the  middle  finger  of  his  left  hand  the  President 
flicked  at  the  mysterious  bit  of  crumpled  paper  still 
held  aloft  in  his  right.  There  was  silence  all  down 
the  long  table. 

"More  than  a  year  ago  I  once  more  chose  a  mes- 


THE  PELL-MELL  AND  SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

senger  into  that  country/'  went  on  Thomas  Jefferson. 
"I  chose  a  leader  of  exploration,  of  discovery.  I  chose 
him  because  I  knew  I  could  trust  in  his  loyalty,  in 
his  judgment,  in  his  courage.  Well  and  thoroughly 
he  has  fitted  himself  for  that  leadership." 

He  turned  his  gaze  contemplatively  down  the  long 
table.  The  gaze  of  many  of  his  guests  followed  his, 
still  wonderingly,  as  he  went  on. 

"My  leader  for  this  expedition  into  the  West,  which 
I  planned  more  than  a  year  ago,  is  here  with  you  now. 
Captain  Meriwether  Lewis,  will  you  stand  up  for  a 
moment  ?  I  wish  to  present  you  to  these,  my  friends." 

With  wonder,  doubt,  and,  indeed,  a  certain  pertur 
bation  at  the  President's  unexpected  summons,  the 
young  Virginian  rose  to  his  feet  and  stood  gazing  ques- 
tioningly  at  his  chief. 

"I  know  your  modesty  as  well  as  your  courage,  Cap 
tain  Lewis,"  smiled  Mr.  Jefferson.  "You  may  be 
seated,  sir,  since  now  we  all  know  you. 

"Let  me  say  to  you  others  that  I  have  had  oppor 
tunity  of  knowing  my  captain  of  this  magnificent  ad 
venture.  In  years  he  is  not  yet  thirty,  but  he  is  and 
always  was  a  leader,  mature,  wise,  calm,  and  resolved. 
Of  courage  undaunted,  possessing  a  firmness  and  per 
severance  of  purpose  which  nothing  but  impossibilities 
can  divert  from  its  direction;  careful  as  a  father  of 
those  committed  to  his  charge,  and  yet  steady  in  the 
maintenance  of  order  and  discipline ;  intimate  with  the 
Indian  character,  customs,  and  principles;  habituated 
to  the  hunting  life;  guarded  by  exact  observation  of 
the  vegetables  and  animals  of  his  own  country  against 

65 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

duplication  of  objects  already  possessed;  honest,  dis 
interested,  liberal;  of  sound  understanding,  and  of  a 
fidelity  to  truth  so  scrupulous  that  whatever  he  shall 
report  will  be  as  certain  as  if  seen  by  ourselves — with 
all  these  qualifications,  I  say,  as  if  selected  and  im 
planted  by  nature  in  one  body,  for  one  purpose,  I  could 
have  no  hesitation  in  confiding  this  enterprise — the 
most  cherished  enterprise  of  my  administration — to 
him  whom  now  you  have  seen  here  before  you." 

The  President  bowed  deeply  to  the  young  man,  who 
had  modestly  resumed  his  place.  Then,  for  just  a 
moment,  Mr.  Jefferson  stood  silent,  absorbed,  rapt, 
carried  away  by  his  own  vision. 

"And  now  for  my  news,"  he  said  at  length.  "Here 
you  have  it!" 

He  waved  once  more  the  little  scrap  of  paper. 

"I  had  this  news  from  New  York  this  morning.  It 
was  despatched  yesterday  evening.  Tomorrow  it  will 
reach  all  the  world.  The  mails  will  bring  it  to  you ;  but 
news  like  this  could  not  wait  for  the  mails.  No  horse 
could  bring  it  fast  enough.  It  was  brought  by  a  dove 
— the  dove  of  peace,  I  trust.  Let  me  explain  briefly 
what  my  news  concerns. 

"As  you  know,  that  new  country  yonder  belonged  at 
first  to  any  one  who  might  find  it — to  England,  if  she 
could  penetrate  it  first;  to  Spain,  if  she  were  first  to 
put  her  flag  upon  it;  to  Russia,  if  first  she  conquered 
it  from  the  far  Northwest.  But  none  of  these  three 
ever  completed  acquisition  by  those  means  under  which 
nations  take  title  to  the  new  territories  of  the  world. 
Louisiana,  as  we  term  it,  has  been  unclaimed,  unknown, 

66 


THE  PELL-MELL  AND  SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

unowned — indeed,  virgin  territory  so  far  as  definite 
title  was  concerned. 

"In  the  north,  such  title  as  might  be  was  conveyed 
to  Great  Britain  by  France  after  the  latter  power  was 
conquered  at  Quebec.  The  lower  regions  France — 
supposing  that  she  owned  them — conveyed,  through 
her  monarch,  the  fifteenth  Louis,  to  Spain.  Again,  in 
the  policy  of  nations,  Spain  sold  them  to  France  once 
more,  in  a  time  of  need.  France  owned  the  territory 
then,  or  had  the  title,  though  Spain  still  was  in  pos 
session.  It  lay  still  unoccupied,  still  contested — until 
but  now. 

"My  friends,  I  give  you  news !  On  the  2d  of  May 
last,  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  First  Consul  of  France,  sold 
to  this  republic,  the  United  States  of  America,  all  of 
Louisiana,  whatever  it  may  be,  from  the  Mississippi  to 
the  Pacific!  Here  are  seven  words  which  carry  an 
empire  with  them — the  empire  of  humanity — a  land 
in  which  democracy,  humanity,  shall  expand  and  grow 
forever!  This  is  my  news: 

"General  Bonaparte  signed  May  2 — Fifteen  millions — Re 
joice!" 

A  deep  sigh  rose  as  if  in  unison  all  along  the  table. 
The  event  was  too  large  for  instant  grasping.  There 
was  no  applause  at  first.  Some — many — did  not  un 
derstand.  Not  so  certain  others. 

The  minister  from  Great  Britain,  the  minister  from 
Spain,  Aaron  Burr  and  a  few  other  men  acquainted 
with  great  affairs,  prominent  in  public  life,  turned  and 
looked  at  the  President's  tall  figure  at  the  head  of  the 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

table,  and  then  at  that  of  the  silent  young  man  whom 
Mr.  Jefferson  had  publicly  honored. 

The  face  of  Aaron  Burr  grew  pale.  The  faces  of 
the  foreign  ministers  showed  sudden  consternation. 
Theodosia  Alston  turned,  her  own  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
grave  face  of  the  young  man  sitting  at  her  side,  who 
made  no  sign  of  the  strong  emotion  possessing  his  soul. 

"I  have  given  you  my  news,"  the  voice  of  Mr.  Jeffer 
son  went  on,  rising  now,  vibrant  and  masterful,  fear 
less,  compelling.  "There  you  have  it,  this  little 
message,  large  as  any  ever  written  in  the  world. 
The  title  to  that  Western  land  has  passed  to  us.  We 
set  our  seal  on  it  now!  Cost  what  it  may,  we  shall 
hold  it  so  long  as  we  can  claim  a  flag-  or  a  country  on 
this  continent.  The  price  is  nothing.  Fifteen  millions 
means  no  more  than  the  wine  or  water  left  in  a  half- 
empty  glass.  It  might  be  fifty  times  fifteen  millions, 
and  yet  not  be  one  fiftieth  enough.  These  things  are 
not  to  be  measured  by  known  signs  or  marks  of 
values.  It  is  not  in  human  comprehension  to  know 
what  we  have  gained.  Hence  we  have  no  human  right 
to  boast.  The  hand  of  Almighty  God  is  in  this  affair ! 
It  was  He  who  guided  the  fingers  of  those  who  signed 
this  cession  to  the  United  States  of  America ! 

"My  friends,  now  I  am  content.  What  remains  is 
but  detail.  Our  duty  is  plain.  Between  us  and  this 
purpose,  I  shall  hold  all  intervention  of  whatever  na 
ture,  friendly  or  hostile,  as  no  more  than  details  to 
be  ignored.  Yonder  lies  and  has  always  lain  the  scene 
of  my  own  ambition.  Always  I  have  hungered  to  know 
that  vast  new  land  beyond  all  maps,  as  yet  ignorant 

68 


THE  PELL-MELL  AND  SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

of  human  metes  and  bounds.  Always  I  have  coveted 
it  for  this  republic,  knowing  that  without  room  for 
expansion  we  must  fail,  that  with  it  we  shall  triumph 
to  the  edge  of  our  ultimate  dream  of  human  destiny 
— triumph  and  flourish  while  governments  shall  re 
main  known  among  men. 

"I  offer  that  faith  to  the  eyes  of  the  world  today 
and  of  all  the  days  to  come,  believing  in  every  humility 
that  God  guided  the  hands  of  those  who  signed  this 
title  deed  of  a  great  empire,  and  that  God  long  ago 
implanted  in  my  unworthy  bosom  the  strong  belief  that 
one  day  this  might  be  which  now  has  come  to  pass.  It 
is  no  time  for  boasting,  no  time  for  any  man  to  claim 
glory  or  credit  for  himself.  We  are  in  the  face  of 
events  so  vast  that  their  margins  leave  our  vision.  We 
cannot  see  to  the  end  of  all  this,  cannot  read  all  the 
purpose  of  it,  because  we  are  but  men. 

"Gentlemen,  you  Americans,  men  of  heart,  of  cour 
age!  You  also,  ladies,  who  care  most  for  gentlemen 
of  heart  and  courage,  whose  pulses  beat  even  with  our 
own  to  the  stimulus  of  our  deeds!  I  say  to  you  all 
that  I  would  gladly  lay  aside  my  office  and  its  honors 
— I  would  lay  aside  all  my  other  ambitions,  all  my  de 
sires  to  be  remembered  as  a  man  who  at  least  en 
deavored  to  think  and  to  act — if  thereby  I  might  lead 
this  expedition  of  our  volunteers  for  the  discovery  of 
the  West.  That  may  not  be.  These  slackened  sinews, 
these  shrinking  limbs,  these  fading  eyes,  do  not  suffice 
for  such  a  task.  It  is  in  my  heart,  yes ;  but  the  heart 
for  this  magnificent  adventure  needs  stronger  pulses 
than  my  own. 

69 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"My  heart — did  I  say  that  I  had  need  of  another, 
a  better?  Did  I  say  that  I  had  need  of  eyes  and  brains, 
of  thews  and  sinews,  of  calm  nerves  and  steady 
blood?  Did  I  say  I  had  need  of  courage  and  resolu 
tion — all  these  things  combined  ?  I  have  them !  That 
Providence  who  has  given  us  all  needful  instruments 
and  agents  to  this  point  in  our  career  as  a  republic  has 
given  us  yet  another,  and  the  last  one  needful  To 
morrow  my  friend,  my  special  messenger,  Captain 
Meriwether  Lewis,  starts  with  his  expedition.  He  will 
explore  the  country  between  the  Missouri  and  the  Pa 
cific — the  country  of  my  dream  and  his.  It  is  no 
longer  the  country  of  any  other  power — it  is  our  own ! 

"Gentlemen,  I  give  you  a  toast — Captain  Meri 
wether  Lewis!" 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  GREAT   CONSPIRACY 

THE  simplicity  dinner  was  at  an  end.     Released 
by  the  President's  withdrawal,  the  crowd — it 
could  be  called  little  else — broke  from  the  table. 
The  anteroom  filled  with  struggling  guests,  excited, 
gesticulating,  exclaiming. 

Meriwether  Lewis,  anxious  only  to  escape  from  his 
social  duties  that  he  might  rejoin  his  chief,  felt  a 
soft  hand  on  his  arm,  and  turned.  Theodosia  Alston 
was  looking  up  at  him. 

"Do  you  forget  your  friends  so  soon?  I  must  add 
my  good  wishes.  It  was  splendid,  what  Mr.  Jefferson 
said — and  it  was  true !" 

"I  wish  it  might  be  true/'  said  the  young  man.  "I 
wish  I  might  be  worthy  of  such  a  man." 

"You  are  worthy  of  us  all,"  returned  Theodosia. 

"People  are  kind  to  the  condemned,"  said  he  senten- 
tiously. 

At  the  door  they  were  once  more  close  to  the  others 
of  the  diplomatic  party  who  had  sat  in  company  at 
table.  The  usual  crush  of  those  clamoring  for  their 
carriages  had  begun. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Merry  to  his  irate  spouse,  "I 
6  71 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

shall,  if  Mrs.  Alston  will  permit,  ask  you  to  take  her 
up  in  your  carriage  with  you  to  her  home.  I  am  to 
go  with  Mr.  Burr." 

The  Spanish  minister  made  similar  excuse  to  his 
own  wife.  Thus  Theodosia  Alston  left  Meriwether 
Lewis  for  the  second  time  that  day. 

It  was  a  late  conference,  the  one  held  that  night  at 
the  home  of  the  Vice-President  of  the  United  States. 
Burr,  cool,  calculating,  always  in  hand,  sat  and 
weighed  many  matters  well  before  he  committed  him 
self  beyond  repair.  His  keen  mind  saw  now,  and 
seized  the  advantage  for  which  he  waited. 

"You  say  right,  gentlemen,  both  of  you/'  he  began, 
leaning  forward.  "I  would  not  blame  you  if  you 
never  went  to  the  White  House  again." 

"Should  I  ever  do  so  again,"  blazed  the  Spanish 
minister,  "I  will  take  my  own  wife  in  to  dinner  on  my 
own  arm,  and  place  her  at  the  head  of  the  table,  where 
she  belongs!  It  was  an  insult  to  my  sovereign  that 
we  received  today." 

"As  much  myself,  sir!"  said  Mr.  Merry,  his  brows 
contracted,  his  face  flushed  still  with  anger.  "I  shall 
know  how  to  answer  the  next  invitation  which  comes 
from  Mr.  Jefferson.1  I  shall  ask  him  whether  or  not 

1  During  the  following  winter  Mr.  Merry  had  opportunity 
to  fulfill  his  threat.  In  February,  1804,  the  President  again 
invited  him  to  dine,  in  the  following  words: 

"Thomas  Jefferson  asks  the  favor  of  Mr.  Merry  to  dine 
with  a  small  party  of  friends  on  Monday,  the  I3th,  at  half 
past  three." 

Mr.  Merry,  still  smarting  all  these  months,  stood  on  his 
dignity  and  addressed  his  reply  to  the  Secretary  oi  State. 

72 


THE    GREAT    CONSPIRACY 

there  is  to  be  any  repetition  of  this  sort  of  thing." 
"So  much  for  the  rule  of  the  plain  people!"  said 
Burr,  as  he  laid  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together  contem 
platively. 

"Yet,  Colonel  Burr,  you  are  Vice-President  under 
this  administration!"  broke  out  Merry. 

"One  must  use  agencies  and  opportunities  as  they 

Reviewing  at  some  length  what  seemed  to  him  important 
events,  he  added: 

"If  Mr.  Merry  should  be  mistaken  as  to  the  meaning  of 
Mr.  Jefferson's  note,  and  it  should  prove  that  the  invitation 
is  designed  for  him  in  a  public  capacity,  he  trusts  that  Mr. 
Jefferson  will  feel  equally  that  it  must  be  out  of  his  power  to 
accept  it,  without  receiving  previously,  through  the  channel 
of  the  Secretary  of  State,  the  necessary  formal  assurance  of 
the  President's  determination  to  observe  toward  him  those 
niceties  of  distinction  which  have  heretofore  been  shown  by 
the  executive  government  of  the  United  States  to  the  persons 
who  have  been  accredited  as  our  Majesty's  ministers. 

"Mr.  Merry  has  the  honor  to  request  of  Mr.  Madison  to 
lay  this  explanation  before  the  President,  and  to  accompany 
it  with  the  strongest  assurance  of  his  highest  respect  and 
consideration." 

The  Secretary  of  State,  who  seems  to  have  been  acting 
as  social  secretary  to  Mr.  Jefferson,  without  hesitation  re 
plied  as  follows: 

"Mr.  Madison  presents  his  compliments  to  Mr.  Merry. 
He  has  communicated  to  the  President  Mr.  Merry's  note  of 
this  morning,  and  has  the  honor  to  remark  to  him  that  the 
President's  invitation,  being  in  the  style  used  by  him  in  like 
cases,  had  no  reference  to  the  points  of  'form  which  will  de 
prive  him  of  the  pleasure  of  Mr.  Merry's  company  at  dinner 
on  Monday  next. 

"Mr.  Madison  tenders  to  Mr.  Merry  his  distinguished  con 
sideration." 

The  friction  arising  out  of  this  and  interlocking  incidents 
was  part  of  the  unfortunate  train  of  events  whi^h  later  led  up 
to  the  war  oi  1812. 

73 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

offer.  My  dear  sir,  perhaps  you  do  not  fully  know  me. 
I  took  this  election  only  in  order  to  be  close  to  the 
seat  of  affairs.  I  am  no  such  rabid  adherent  to  democ 
racy  as  some  may  think.  You  would  be  startled  if 
I  told  you  that  I  regard  this  republic  as  no  more  than 
an  experiment.  This  is  a  large  continent.  Take  all 
that  Western  country — Louisiana — it  ought  not  to  be 
called  attached  to  the  United  States.  At  this  very 
moment  it  is  half  in  rebellion  against  its  constituted 
authorities.  More  than  once  it  has  been  ready  to  take 
arms,  to  march  against  New  Orleans,  and  to  set  up  a 
new  country  of  its  own.  It  is  geography  which  fights 
for  monarchy,  against  democracy,  on  this  continent — 
in  spite  of  what  all  these  people  say/' 

"Sir/'  said  the  British  minister,  "you  have  been  a 
student  of  affairs." 

"And  why  not?  I  claim  intelligence,  good  educa 
tion,  association  with  men  of  thought.  My  reason  tells 
me  that  conquest  is  in  the  blood  of  those  men  who  set 
tled  in  the  Mississippi  Valley.  They  went  into  Ken 
tucky  and  Tennessee  for  the  sake  of  conquest.  They 
are  restless,  unattached,  dissatisfied — ready  for  any 
great  move.  No  move  can  be  made  which  will  seem 
too  great  or  too  daring  for  them.  Now  let  me  confess 
somewhat  to  you — for  I  know  that  you  will  respect  my 
confidence,  if  you  go  no  further  writh  me  than  you  have 
gone  tonight.  I  have  bought  large  acreages  of  land 
in  the  lower  Louisiana  country,  ostensibly  for  coloniza 
tion  purposes.  I  do  purpose  colonization  there — but 
not  under  the  flag  of  this  republic!" 

Silence  greeted  his  remark.     The  others  sat  for  a 

74 


THE    GREAT    CONSPIRACY 

moment,  merely  gazing  at  him,  half  stunned,  remem 
bering  only  that  he  was  Jefferson's  colleague,  Vice- 
President  of  the  United  States. 

"You  cannot  force  geography/'  resumed  Burr,  in 
tones  as  even  as  if  he  had  but  spoken  of  bartering  for  a 
house  and  lot.  "Lower  Louisiana  and  Mexico  to 
gether — yes,  perhaps.  Florida,  with  us — yes,  perhaps. 
Indeed,  territories  larger  perhaps  than  any  of  us  dare 
dream  at  present,  once  our  new  flag  is  raised.  All  that 
I  purpose  is  to  do  what  has  been  discussed  a  thousand 
times  before — to  unite  in  a  natural  alliance  of  self- 
interest  those  men  who  are  sundered  in  every  way  of 
interest  and  alliance  from  the  government  on  this  side 
of  the  Alleghanies.  Would  you  call  that  treason — 
conspiracy  ?  I  dislike  the  words.  I  call  it  rather  a  plan 
based  upon  sound  reason  and  common  sense;  and  I 
hold  that  its  success  is  virtually  assured." 

"You  will  explain  more  fully,  Colonel  Burr?"  Mr. 
Merry  was  intent  now  on  all  that  he  heard. 

"I  march  only  with  destiny,  yonder — do  you  not 
see,  gentlemen?"  Burr  resumed.  "Those  who  march 
with  me  are  in  alliance  with  natural  events.  This  re 
public  is  split  now,  at  this  very  moment.  It  must  fol 
low  its  own  fate.  If  the  flag  of  Spain  were  west  of  it 
on  the  south,  and  the  flag  of  Britain  west  of  it  on  the 
north,  why,  then  we  should  have  the  natural  end  of 
the  republic's  expansion.  With  those  great  powers  in 
alliance  at  its  back,  with  the  fleets  of  England  on  the 
seas,  at  the  mouth  of  the  great  river — owning  the 
lands  in  Canada  on  the  north — it  would  be  a  simple 
thing,  I  say,  to  crush  this  republic  against  the  wall  of 

75 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

the  Appalachians,  or  to  drive  it  once  more  into  the 


sea." 


They  were  silent  alike  before  the  enormousness  and 
the  enormity  of  this.  Reading  their  thoughts,  Burr 
raised  his  hand  in  deprecation. 

"I  know  what  is  in  your  minds,  gentlemen.  The 
one  thing  which  troubles  you  is  this — the  man  who 
speaks  to  you  is  Vice-President  of  the  United  States. 
I  say  what  in  your  country  would  be  treason.  In  this 
country  I  maintain  it  is  not  yet  treason,  because  thus 
far  we  are  in  an  experiment.  We  have  no  actual 
reign  of  reason  and  of  law;  and  he  marches  to  suc 
cess  who  marches  with  natural  laws  and  along  the 
definite  trend  of  existing  circumstances  and  condi 
tions." 

"What  you  say,  Mr.  Burr,"  began  Merry  gravely, 
"assuredly  has  the  merit  of  audacity.  And  I  see  that 
you  have  given  it  thought/' 

"I  interest  you,  gentlemen!  You  can  go  with  me 
only  if  it  be  to  your  interest  and  to  that  of  your  coun 
tries  to  join  with  me  in  these  plans.  They  have  gone 
far  forward — let  me  tell  you  that.  I  know  my  men 
from  St.  Louis  to  New  Orleans — I  know  my  leaders 
— I  know  that  population.  If  this  be  treason,  as  Mr. 
Patrick  Henry  said,  let  us  make  the  most  of  it.  At 
least  it  is  the  intention  of  Aaron  Burr.  I  stake  upon  it 
all  my  fortune,  my  life,  the  happiness  of  my  family. 
Do  you  think  I  am  sincere  ?" 

Merry  sat  engaged  in  thought.  He  could  see  vast 
movements  in  the  game  of  nations  thus  suddenly  shown 
before  him  on  the  diplomatic  board.  And  on  his  part 


THE    GREAT    CONSPIRACY 

it  is  to  be  said  that  he  was  there  to  represent  the  inter 
ests  of  his  own  government  alone. 

In  the  same  even  tones,  Burr  resumed  his  astonish 
ing  statements. 

"My  son-in-law,  Mr.  Alston,  of  South  Carolina — 
a  very  wealthy  planter  of  that  State — is  in  full  accord 
with  all  my  plans.  My  own  resources  have  been 
pledged  to  their  utmost,  and  he  has  been  so  good  as  to 
add  largely  from  his  own.  I  admit  to  you  that  I  sought 
alliance  with  him  deliberately  when  he  asked  my 
daughter's  hand.  He  is  an  ambitious  man,  and  per 
haps  he  saw  his  way  to  the  fulfillment  of  certain  per 
sonal  ambitions.  He  has  contributed  fifty  thousand 
dollars  to  my  cause.  He  will  have  a  place  of  honor 
and  profit  in  the  new  government  which  will  be  formed 
yonder  in  the  Mississippi  Valley/' 

"So,  then,"  began  Yrujo,  "the  financing  is  somewhat 
forward !  But  fifty  thousand  is  only  a  drop." 

"We  may  as  well  be  plain,"  rejoined  Burr.  "Time 
is  short — you  know  that  it  is  short.  We  all  heard 
what  Mr.  Jefferson  said — we  know  that  if  we  are 
to  take  action  it  must  be  at  once.  That  expe 
dition  must  not  succeed!  If  that  wedge  be  driven 
through  to  the  Pacific — and  who  can  say  what  that 
young  Virginian  may  do  ? — your  two  countries  will  be 
forever  separated  on  this  continent  by  one  which  will 
wage  successful  war  on  both.  Swift  action  is  my  only 
hope — and  yours." 

"Your  funds,"  said  Mr.  Merry,  "seem  to  me  inade 
quate  for  the  demands  which  will  be  made  upon  them. 
You  said  fifty  thousand  ?" 

77 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Burr  nodded. 

"I  pledge  you  as  much  more — on  one  condition  that 
I  shall  name/' 

Burr  turned  from  Mr.  Merry  to  Sefior  Yrujo.  The 
latter  nodded. 

"I  undertake  to  contribute  the  same  amount,"  said 
the  envoy  of  Spain,  "but  with  no  condition  attached." 

The  color  deepened  in  the  cheek  of  the  great  con 
spirator.  His  eye  glittered  a  trifle  more  brilliantly. 

"You  named  a  certain  condition,  sir,"  he  said  to 
Merry. 

"Yes,  one  entirely  obvious." 

"What  is  it,  then,  your  excellency?"  Burr  inquired. 

"You  yourself  have  made  it  plain.  The  infernal 
ingenuity  of  yonder  Corsican— curse  his  devilish 
brain! — has  rolled  a  greater  stone  in  our  yard  than 
could  be  placed  there  by  any  other  human  agency.  We 
could  not  believe  that  Napoleon  Bonaparte  would  part 
with  Louisiana  thus  easily.  No  doubt  he  feared  the 
British  fleet  at  the  mouth  of  the  river — no  doubt  Spain 
was  glad  enough  that  our  guns  were  not  at  New 
Orleans  ere  this.  But,  I  say,  he  rolled  that  stone  in 
our  yard.  If  title  to  this  Louisiana  purchase  is  driven 
through  to  the  Pacific — as  Mr.  Jefferson  plans  so 
boldly — the  end  is  written  now,  Colonel  Burr,  to  all 
your  enterprises!  Britain  will  be  forced  to  content 
herself  with  what  she  can  take  on  the  north,  and  Spain 
eventually  will  hold  nothing  worth  having  on  the 
south.  By  the  Lord,  General  Bonaparte  fights  well — - 
he  knows  how  to  sacrifice  a  pawn  in  order  to  check 
mate  a  king !" 

73 


THE    GREAT    CONSPIRACY 

"Yes,  your  excellency,"  said  Burr,  "I  agree  with 
you,  but " 

"And  now  my  condition.  Follow  me  closely.  I  say 
if  that  wedge  is  driven  home — if  that  expedition  of 
Mr.  Jefferson's  shall  succeed — its  success  will  rest  on 
one  factor.  In  short,  there  is  a  man  at  the  head  of 
that  expedition  who  must  fight  with  us  and  not  against 
us,  else  my  own  interest  in  this  matter  lacks  entirely. 
You  know  the  man  I  have  in  mind/* 

Burr  nodded,  his  lips  compressed. 

"That  young  man,  Colonel  Burr,  will  go  through! 
I  know  his  kind.  Believe  me,  if  I  know  men,  he  is  a 
strong  man.  Let  that  man  come  back  from  his  expe 
dition  with  the  map  of  a  million  square  miles  of  new 
American  territory  hanging  at  his  belt,  like  a  scalp 
torn  from  his  foes — and  there  will  be  no  chance  left 
for  Colonel  Burr  and  his  friends !" 

"All  that  your  excellency  has  said  tallies  entirely 
with  our  own  beliefs,"  rejoined  Burr.  "But  what 
then?  What  is  the  condition?" 

"Simply  this — we  must  have  Captain  Lewis  with  us 
and  not  against  us.  I  want  that  man!  I  must  have 
him.  That  expedition  must  never  proceed.  It  must 
be  delayed,  stopped.  Money  was  raised  twenty  years 
ago  in  London  to  make  this  same  sort  of  journey 
across  the  continent,  but  the  plan  fell  through.  Revive 
it  now,  and  we  English  still  may  pull  it  off.  But  it 
will  be  too  late  if  Captain  Lewis  goes  forward  now — 
too  late  for  us — too  late  for  you  and  your  plan,  Mr. 
Burr.  I  want  that  man !  We  must  have  him  with  us !" 

Burr  sat  in  silence  for  a  time. 

79 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"You  open  up  a  singular  train  of  thought  for  me, 
your  excellency,"  said  he  at  length.  "He  does  belong 
with  us,  that  young  Virginian !" 

"You  know  him,  then?"  inquired  the  British  min 
ister.  "That  is  to  say,  you  know  him  well?" 

"Perfectly.  Why  should  I  not?  He  nearly  was  my 
son-in-law.  Egad!  Give  him  two  weeks  more,  and 
he  might  have  been — he  got  the  news  of  my  daughter's 
marriage  just  too  late.  It  hit  him  hard.  In  truth, 
I  doubt  if  he  ever  has  recovered  from  it.  They  say  he 
still  takes  it  hard.  Now,  you  ask  me  how  to  get  that 
man,  your  excellency.  There  is  perhaps  one  \vay  in 
which  it  could  be  accomplished,  and  only  one." 

"How,  then?"  inquired  Merry. 

"The  way  of  a  woman  with  a  man  may  always  be 
the  answer  in  matters  of  that  sort!"  said  Aaron  Burr. 

The  three  sat  and  looked  each  at  the  other  for  some 
time  without  comment. 

"I  find  Colonel  Burr's  brain  active  in  all  ways!" 
began  Sefior  Yrujo  dryly.  "Now  I  confess  that  he 
goes  somewhat  in  advance  of  mine." 

"Listen,"  said  Aaron  Burr.  "What  Mr.  Jefferson 
said  of  Captain  Lewis  is  absolutely  true — his  will  has 
never  been  known  to  relax  or  weaken.  Once  resolved, 
he  cannot  change — I  will  not  say  he  does  hot,  but  that 
he  cannot." 

"Then  even  the  unusual  weapon  you  suggest  might 
not  avail!"  Mr.  Merry's  smile  was  not  altogether 
pleasant. 

"Women  would  listen  to  him  readily,  I  think," 
remarked  Yrujo. 

80 


THE    GREAT    CONSPIRACY 

"Gallant  in  his  way,  yes/'  said  Burr. 

"Then  what  do  you  mean  by  saying1  something 
about  the  way  of  a  woman  with  a  man  ?" 

"Only  that  it  is  the  last  remaining  opportunity  for 
us,"  rejoined  Aaron  Burr.  "The  appeal  to  his  senses 
— of  course,  we  will  set  that  aside.  The  appeal  to  his 
chivalry — that  is  better!  The  appeal  to  his  ambition 
• — that  is  less,  but  might  be  used.  The  appeal  to  his 
sympathy — the  wish  to  be  generous  with  the  woman 
who  has  not  been  generous  with  him,  for  the  reason 
that  she  could  not  be — here  again  you  have  another 
argument  which  we  may  claim  as  possible." 

"You  reason  well,"  said  Merry.  "But  while  men 
are  mortal,  yonder,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  a  gentleman." 

"Precisely,"  said  Burr.  "If  we  ask  him  to  resign 
his  expedition  we  are  asking  him  to  alter  all  his  loyalty 
to  his  chief — and  he  will  not  do  that.  Any  appeal  made 
to  him  must  be  to  his  honor  or  to  his  chivalry ;  other 
wise  it  were  worse  than  hopeless.  He  would  no  more 
be  disloyal  to  my  son-in-law,  the  lady's  husband — in 
case  it  came  to  that — than  he  would  be  disloyal  to  the 
orders  of  his  chief." 

"Fie !  Fie !"  said  Yrujo,  serving  himself  with  wine 
from  a  decanter  on  the  table.  "All  men  are  mortal.  I 
agree  with  your  first  proposition,  Colonel  Burr,  that 
the  safest  argument  with  a  man — with  a  young  man 
especially,  and  such  a  young  man — is  a  woman — and 
such  a  woman !" 

"One  thing  is  sure,"  rejoined  Burr,  flushing.  "That 
man  will  succeed  unless  some  woman  induces  him  to 
change — some  woman,  acting  under  an  appeal  to  his 

81 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

chivalry  or  his  sense  of  justice.  His  reasons  must  be 
honest  to  him.  They  must  be  honest  to  her  alike." 

Burr  added  this  last  virtuously,  and  Mr.  Merry 
bowed  deeply  in  return. 

"This  is  not  only  honorable  of  you,  Colonel  Burr, 
but  logical/' 

"That  means  some  sort  of  sacrifice  for  him,"  sug 
gested  Yrujo  presently.  "But  some  one  is  sacrificed 
in  every  great  undertaking.  We  cannot  count  the  loss 
of  men  when  nations  seek  to  extend  their  boundaries 
and  enhance  their  power.  Only  the  question  is,  at 
what  sacrifice,  through  what  appeal  to  his  chivalry, 
can  his  assistance  be  carried  to  us?" 

"We  have  left  out  of  our  accounting  one  factor/5 
said  Burr  after  a  time. 

"What,  then?" 

"One  factor,  I  repeat,  we  have  overlooked,"  said 
Burr.  "That  is  the  wit  of  a  woman!  I  am  purpos 
ing  to  send  as  our  agent  with  him  no  other  than  my 
daughter,  Mrs.  Alston.  There  is  no  mind  more  bril 
liant,  no  heart  more  loyal,  than  hers — nor  any 
soul  more  filled  writh  ambition !  She  believes  in 
her  father  absolutely — will  use  every  resource  of 
her  own  to  upbuild  her  father's  ambitions.1  Now, 

1  It  is  generally  conceded  that  Theodosia  Burr  Alston  must 
have  been  acquainted  with  her  father's  most  intimate  ambi 
tions,  and  with  at  least  part  of  the  questionable  plans  by 
which  he  purposed  to  further  them.  Her  blind  and  unswerv 
ing  loyalty  to  him,  passing  all  ordinary  filial  affection,  was  a 
predominant  trait  of  her  singular  and  by  no  means  weak  or 
hesitant  character,  in  which  masculine  resolution  blended  so 
strangely  with  womanly  reserve  and  sweetness. 

82 


THE    GREAT    CONSPIRACY 

women  have  their  own  ways  of  accomplishing  re 
sults.  Suppose  we  leave  it  to  my  daughter  to  fash 
ion  her  own  campaign?  There  is  nothing  wrong  in 
the  relations  of  these  two,  but  at  table  today  I  saw 
his  look  to  her,  and  hers  to  him  in  reply.  We  are 
speaking  in  deep  and  sacred  confidence  here,  gentle 
men.  So  I  say  to  you,  ask  no  questions  of  me,  and 
let  me  ask  none  of  her.  Let  me  only  say  to  her :  'My 
daughter,  your  father's  success,  his  life,  his  fortune — 
the  life  and  fortune  and  success  of  your  husband  as 
well — depend  upon  one  event,  depend  upon  you  and 
your  ability  to  stop  yonder  expedition  of  Captain 
Meriwether  Lewis  into  the  Missouri  country!" 

"When  could  we  learn?"  demanded  the  British 
minister. 

"I  cannot  say  how  long  a  time  it  may  take,"  Burr 
replied.  "I  promise  you  that  my  daughter  shall  have 
a  personal  interview  with  Captain  Lewis  before  he 
starts  for  the  West." 

"But  he  starts  at  dawn!"  smiled  Minister  Merry. 

"Were  it  an  hour  earlier  than  that,  I  would  promise 
it.  But  now,  gentlemen,  let  us  come  to  the  main  point 
If  we  succeed,  what  then?" 

The  British  minister  was  businesslike  and  definite. 

"Fifty  thousand  dollars  at  once,  out  of  a  special 
fund  in  my  control.  Meantime  I  would  write  at  once 
to  my  government  and  lay  the  matter  before  them.1 


1  Mr.  Merry  did  so  and  reported  the  entire  proposal  made 
by  Burr.  The  proposition  was  that  the  latter  should  "lend 
his  assistance  to  his  majesty's  government  in  any  manner  in 
which  they  may  think  fit  to  employ  him,  particularly  in  en- 

83 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

We  shall  need  a  fleet  at  the  south  of  the  Mississippi 
River.  That  will  cost  money — it  will  require  at  least 
half  a  million  dollars  to  assure  any  sort  of  success  in 
plans  so  large  as  yours,  Mr.  Burr.  But  on  the  con 
tingency  that  she  stops  him,  I  promise  you  that  amount. 
Fifty  thousand  down — a  half-million  more  when 
needed." 

The  dark  eye  of  Aaron  Burr  flashed. 

"Then,"  said  he  firmly,  "success  will  meet  our  ef 
forts — I  guarantee  it!  I  pledge  all  my  personal  for 
tune,  my  friends,  my  family,  to  the  last  member." 

"I  am  for  my  country,"  said  Mr.  Merry  simply.  "It 
is  plain  to  see  that  Napoleon  sought  to  humble  us  by 
ceding  that  great  region  to  this  republic.  He  meant 
to  build  up  in  the  New  World  another  enemy  to 
Great  Britain.  But  if  we  can  thwart  him — if  at  the 
very  start  we  can  divide  the  forces  which  might  later 
be  allied  against  us — perhaps  we  may  conquer  a  wider 
sphere  of  possession  for  ourselves  on  this  rich  conti 
nent.  There  is  no  better  colonizing  ground  in  all  the 
world!" 


deavoring  to  effect  a  separation  of  the  Western  part  of  the 
United  States  from  that  which  lies  between  the  mountains  in 
its  whole  extent." 

But  though  deeply  interested  in  the  conspiracy  to  sepa 
rate  the  Western  country,  Mr.  Merry  was  not  too  confid 
ing,  for  in  his  message  to  Mr.  Pitt  he  added  the  following 
confidence,  showing  his  own  estimate  of  Burr: 

"I  have  only  to  add  that  if  strict  confidence  could  be  placed 
in  him,  he  certainly  possesses,  perhaps  in  a  much  greater  de 
gree  than  any  other  individual  in  this  country,  all  the  talents, 
energy,  intrepidity,  and  firmness  which  it  requires  for  such 
an  enterprise." 


THE    GREAT    CONSPIRACY 

"You  understand  my  plan/'  said  Aaron  Burr.  "Re 
duced  to  the  least  common  denominator,  Meriwether 
Lewis  and  my  daughter  Theodosia  have  our  fate  in 
their  hands." 

The  others  rose.  The  hour  was  past  midnight.  The 
secret  conference  had  been  a  long  one. 

"He  starts  tomorrow — is  that  sure?"  asked  Merry. 

"As  the  clock,"  rejoined  Burr.  "She  must  see  him 
before  the  breakfast  hour." 

"My  compliments,  Colonel  Burr.     Good  night!" 

"Good  night,  sir,"  added  Yrujo.  "It  has  been  a 
strange  day." 

"Secrecy,  gentlemen,  secrecy!  I  hope  soon  to 
have  more  news  for  you,  and  good  news,  too.  Au 
revoir!" 

Burr  himself  accompanied  them  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  VII 

COLONEL  BURR  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER 

ONE  instant  Aaron  Burr  sat,  his  head  dropped, 
revolving  his  plans.  The  next,  he  pulled  the 
bell-cord  and  paced  the  floor  until  he  had 
answer. 

"Go  at  once  to  Mrs.  Alston's  rooms,  Charles,"  said 
he  to  the  servant.  "Tell  her  to  rise  and  come  to  me 
at  once.  Tell  her  not  to  wait.  Do  you  hear  ?" 

He  still  paced  the  floor  until  he  heard  a  light  frou 
frou  in  the  hall,  a  light  knock  at  the  door.  His 
daughter  entered,  her  eyes  still  full  of  sleep,  her  attire 
no  more  than  a  loose  peignoir  caught  up  and  thrown 
above  her  night  garments. 

"What  is  it,  father — are  you  ill  ?" 

"Far  from  it,  my  child,"  said  he,  turning  with  head 
erect.  "I  am  alive,  well,  and  happier  than  I  have  been 
for  months — years.  I  need  you — come,  sit  here  and 
listen  to  me." 

He  caught  her  to  him  with  a  swift,  paternal  em 
brace — he  loved  no  mortal  being  as  he  did  his  daugh 
ter — then  pushed  her  tenderly  into  the  deep  seat  near 
by  the  lamp,  while  he  continued  pacing  up  and  down 
the  room,  voluble  and  persuasive,  full  of  his  great  idea. 

86 


COLONEL    BURR    AND    HIS    DAUGHTER 

The  matters  which  he  had  but  now  discussed  with 
the  two  foreign  officials  he  placed  before  his  daughter. 
He  told  her  all — except  the  truth.  And  Aaron  Burr 
knew  how  to  gild  falsehood  itself  until  it  seemed  the 
truth. 

"Now  you  have  it,  my  dear/*  said  he.  "You  see, 
my  ambition  to  found  a  country  of  my  own,  where  a 
man  may  have  a  real  ambition.  This  dirty  village 
here  is  too  narrow  a  field  for  talents  like  yours  or  mine. 
Let  me  tell  you,  Napoleon  has  played  a  great  jest 
with  Mr.  Jefferson.  There  is  nothing  in  the  Constitu 
tion  of  the  United  States — I  am  lawyer  enough  to 
know  that — which  will  make  it  possible  for  Congress 
to  ratify  the  purchase  of  Louisiana.  We  cannot  carve 
new  States  from  that  country- — it  is  already  settled  by 
the  subjects  of  another  government.  Hence  the  ex 
pedition  of  Mr.  Lewis  must  fail — it  must  surely  fall 
of  its  own  weight.  It  is  based  upon  an  absurdity. 
Not  even  Mr.  Jefferson  can  fly  in  the  face  of  the 
supreme  laws  of  the  land. 

"But  as  to  the  Mississippi  Valley,  matters  are  en 
tirely  different.  There  is  no  law  against  that  country's 
organizing  for  a  better  government.  There  is  every 
natural  reason  for  that.  As  these  States  on  the  East 
confederated  in  the  cause  against  oppression,  so  can 
those  yonder.  There  will  be  more  opportunity  for 
strong  men  there  when  that  game  is  on  the  board — 
men  like  Captain  Lewis,  for  instance.  Should  one 
ally  one's  self  with  a  foredoomed  failure?  Not  at  all. 
I  prefer  rather  success — station,  rank,  power,  money, 
for  myself,  if  you  please.  With  us — a  million  dollars 
7  87 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

for  the  founding  of  our  new  country.  With  him — 
for  the  undertaking  of  yonder  impracticable  and 
chimerical  expedition,  twenty-five  hundred  dollars! 
Which  enterprise,  think  you,  will  win  ? 

"But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  that  expedition  of  Mr. 
Jefferson's  should  succeed  by  virtue  of  accident,  or  of 
good  leadership,  all  my  plans  must  fail — that  is  plain. 
It  comes,  therefore,  to  this,  Theo,  and  I  may  tell  you 
plainly — Captain  Lewis  must  be  seen — he  must  be 
stopped — we  must  hold  a  conference  with  him.  It 
would  be  useless  for  me  to  undertake  to  arrange  all 
that.  There  is  only  one  person  who  can  save  your 
father's  future — and  that  one,  my  daughter,  is — you!'* 

He  caught  Theodosia's  look  of  surprise,  her  start, 
the  swift  flush  on  her  cheek — and  laughed  lightly. 

"Let  me  explain.  Aaron  Burr  and  all  his  family — • 
all  his  friends — will  reach  swift  advancement  in 
yonder  new  government.  Power,  place — these  are 
the  things  that  strong  men  covet.  That  is  what  the 
game  of  politics  means  for  strong  men — that  is  why 
we  fight  so  bitterly  for  office.  I  plan  for  myself  some 
greater  office  than  second  fiddle  in  this  tawdry  repub 
lic  along  the  Atlantic.  1  want  the  first  place,  and  in  a 
greater  field !  I  will  take  my  friends  with  me.  I  want 
men  who  can  lead  other  men.  I  want  men  like  Cap 
tain  Lewis." 

"It  seems  that  you  value  him  more  now  than  once 
you  did." 

"Yes,  that  is  true,  Theo,  that  is  true.  I  did  not 
favor  his  suit  for  your  hand  at  that  time.  Although 
ho  had  a  modest  fortune  in  Virginia  lands,  he  could 

88 


COLONEL    BURR   AND   HIS    DAUGHTER 

not  offer  you  the  future  assured  by  Mr.  Alston.  I  was 
rejoiced — I  admit  it  frankly — when  I  learned  that 
young  Captain  Lewis  came  just  too  late,  for  I  feared 
you  would  have  preferred  him.  And  yet  I  saw  his 
quality  then — Mr.  Jefferson  sees  it — he  is  a  good 
chooser  of  men.  But  Captain  Lewis  must  not  ad 
vance  beyond  the  Ohio.  That  is  a  large  task  for  a 


woman." 


"What  woman,  father?" 

A  flush  came  to  her  pale  cheek.  Her  father  turned 
to  her  directly,  his  own  piercing  gaze  aflame. 

"There  is  but  one  woman  on  earth  could  do  that, 
my  daughter!  That  young  man's  fate  was  settled 
when  he  looked  on  that  woman — when  he  looked  on 
you!" 

She  swiftly  turned  her  head  aside,  not  answering. 

"Am  I  so  engaged  in  affairs  that  I  cannot  see  the 
obvious,  my  dear?"  went  on  the  vibrant  voice.  "Had 
I  no  eyes  for  what  went  on  at  my  side  this  very  eve 
ning,  at  Mr.  Jefferson's  dinner-table  ?  Could  I  fail  to 
observe  his  look  to  you — and,  yes,  am  I  not  sensible 
to  what  your  eyes  said  to  him  in  reply  ?" 

"Do  you  believe  that  of  me — and  you  my  father?" 

"I  believe  nothing  dishonorable  of  you,  my  dear," 
said  Burr.  "Neither  could  I  ask  anything  dishonor 
able.  But  I  know  what  young  blood  will  do.  Your 
eyes  said  no  more  than  that  for  me.  I  know  you  wish 
him  well — know  you  wish  well  for  his  ambition,  his 
success — am  sure  you  do  not  wish  to  see  him  doomed 
to  failure.  What?  Would  you  see  his  career  blighted 
when  it  should  be  but  begun  ?" 

8g 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"There  would  be  prospects  for  him  ?" 

"All  the  prospects  in  the  world !  I  would  place  him 
only  second  to  myself,  so  highly  do  I  value  his  talents 
in  an  enterprise  such  as  this.  Alston's  money,  but 
Lewis's  brains  and  courage!  They  both  love  you — 
do  I  not  know  ?" 

Troubled,  again  she  turned  her  gaze  aside. 

"Listen,  my  daughter.  That  young  man  is  wise — 
he  has  no  such  vast  belief  in  yonder  expedition.  He 
is  going  in  desperation,  to  escape  a  memory !  Is  it  not 
true?  Tell  me — and  believe  that  I  am  not  blind — is 
not  Captain  Lewis  going  into  the  Missouri  country  in 
order  to  forget  a  certain  woman?  And  do  we  not 
know,  my  daughter,  who  that  woman  is  ?" 

Still  her  downcast  eye  gave  him  no  reply. 

"Meriwether  Lewis  yonder  among  the  savages  is  a 
failure.  Meriwether  Lewis  with  me  is  second  only  to 
the  vice- regent  of  the  lower  Louisiana  country.  Texas, 
Florida,  much  of  Mexico,  will  join  with  us,  that  is 
sure.  We  fight  with  the  great  nations  of  the  world, 
not  against  them — we  fight  with  the  stars  in  their 
courses,  and  not  against  them. 

"Now,  you  have  two  pictures,  my  dear — one  of 
Meriwether  Lewis,  the  wanderer,  a  broken  and  hope 
less  man,  living  among-  the  savages,  a  log  hut  his  home, 
a  camp  fire  the  only  hearth  he  knows.  Picture  that 
hopeless  and  broken  man — condemned  to  that  by  your 
self,  my  dear — and  then  picture  that  other  figure  whom 
you  can  see  rescued,  restored  to  the  world,  placed  by 
your  own  hand  in  a  station  of  dignity  and  power. 
Then,  indeed,  he  might  forget — he  might  forgive. 

90 


COLONEL    BURR    AND    HIS    DAUGHTER 

Yonder  he  will  forsake  his  manhood — he  will  relax 
his  ideals,  and  go  down,  step  by  step,  until  he  shall  not 
think  of  you  again. 

"There  are  two  pictures,  my  daughter.  Which  da 
you  prefer — what  do  you  decide  to  do?  Shall  you 
condemn  him,  or  shall  you  rescue  him?  Forgive  your 
father  for  having  spoken  thus  plainly.  I  know  your 
heart — I  know  your  generosity  as  well  as  I  know  your 
loyalty  and  ambition.  There  is  no  reason,  my  dear, 
why,  for  the  sake  of  your  father,  for  the  sake  of  your 
self,  and  for  the  sake  of  that  young  man  yonder,  you 
should  not  go  to  him  immediately  and  carry  my  mes- 
sage." 

"Could  it  be  possible,"  she  began  at  length,  half  mus 
ing,  "that  I,  who  made  Captain  Lewis  so  unhappy, 
could  aid  a  man  like  him  to  reach  a  higher  and  better 
place  in  life?  Could  I  save  him  from  himself — and 
from  myself  ?" 

"You  speak  like  my  own  daughter!  If  that  gener 
ous  wish  bore  fruit,  I  think  that  in  the  later  years  of 
life,  for  both  of  you,  the  reflection  would  prove  not 
unwelcome.  I  know,  as  well  as  I  know  anything,  that 
no  other  woman  will  ever  hold  a  place  in  the  heart  of 
Meriwether  Lewis.  There  is  a  memory  there  which 
will  shut  out  all  other  things  on  earth.  We  deal  now 
in  delicate  matters,  it  is  true;  but  I  have  been  frank 
with  you,  because,  knowing  your  loyalty  and  fairness, 
knowing  your  ambition,  even-paced  with  mine,  none 
the  less  I  know  your  discretion  and  your  generosity  as 
well.  You  see,  I  have  chosen  the  best  messenger  in 
all  the  world  to  advance  my  own  ambition.  Indeed,  I 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

have  chosen  the  only  one  in  all  the  world  who  might 
undertake  this  errand  with  the  slightest  prospect  of 


success." 


"What  can  I  do,  father?" 

"In  the  morning  that  young  man  will  start.  It  is 
now  two  by  the  clock.  We  are  late.  He  will  start 
with  the  rising  sun.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  will  see  his 
bed  at  all  tonight." 

"You  have  called  me  for  a  strange  errand,  father," 
said  Theodosia  Alston,  at  length.  "So  far  as  my  brain 
grasps  these  things,  I  go  with  you  in  your  plans.  I 
could  plan  no  treachery  against  this  country,  nor  could 
you — you  are  its  sworn  servant,  its  high  official." 

"Treachery?  No,  it  is  statesmanship,  it  is  service 
to  mankind!" 

"My  consent  to  that,  yes.  But  as  to  seeing  Captain 
Lewis,  there  is,  as  you  know,  but  one  way.  I  go  not 
as  Theodosia  Burr,  but  as  Mrs.  Alston  of  Carolina. 
I  am  a  woman  of  honor;  he  is  a  man  of  honor.  Ne 
argument  on  earth  would  avail  with  him  except  such 
as  might  be  based  upon  honor  and  loyalty.  Nor  would 
any  argument,  even  if  offered  by  my  father,  avail 
otherwise  with  me." 

She  turned  upon  him  now  the  full  gaze  of  her  dark 
eyes,  serious,  luminous,  yet  tender,  her  love  for  him 
showing  so  clearly  that  he  came  to  her  softly,  took  her 
hands,  caught  her  to  his  bosom,  and  kissed  her 
tenderly. 

"Theodosia,"  said  he,  "aid  me!  If  the  fire  of  my 
ambition  has  consumed  me,  I  have  come  to  you,  be 
cause  I  know  your  love,  because  I  know  your  loyalty ! 

92 


COLONEL    BURR    AND    HIS    DAUGHTER 

I  have  not  slept  tonight,"  he  added,  passing  a  hand 
across  his  forehead. 

"There  will  be  no  more  sleep  for  me  tonight,"  was 
her  reply. 

"You  will  see  him  in  the  morning?" 

"Yes." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE  PARTING 

THERE  were  others  in  Washington  who  did  not 
sleep  that  night.     A  light  burned  until  sunrise 
in  the  little  office-room  of  Thomas  Jefferson. 
Spread  upon  his  desk,  covering  its  litter  of  unfinished 
business,  lay  a  large  map — a  map  which  today  would 
cause  any  schoolboy  to  smile,  but  which  at  that  time 
represented  the  wisdom  of  the  world  regarding  the  in 
terior  of  the  great  North  American  continent.     It  had 
served  to  afford  anxious  study  for  two  men,  these 
many  hours. 

"Yonder  it  lies,  Captain  Lewis !"  said  Mr.  Jefferson 
at  length.  "How  vast,  how  little  kown!  We  know 
our  climate  and  soil  here.  It  is  but  reasonable  to  sup 
pose  that  they  exist  yonder  as  they  do  with  us,  in  some 
part,  at  least.  If  so,  yonder  are  homes  for  millions 
now  unborn.  Had  General  Bonaparte  known  the 
Aralue  of  that  land,  he  would  have  fought  the  world 
rather  than  alienate  such  a  region." 

The  President  tapped  a  long  forefinger  on  the  map. 

"This,  then/'  he  went  on,  "is  your  country.  Find 
it  out — bring  back  to  me  examples  of  its  soil,  its  prod 
ucts,  its  vegetable  and  animal  life.  Espy  out  espe- 

94 


THE    PARTING 

cially  for  us  any  strange  animals  there  may  be  of  which 
science  has  not  yet  account.  I  hold  it  probable  that 
there  may  be  yonder  living  examples  of  the  mastodon, 
whose  bones  we  have  found  in  Kentucky.  You  your 
self  may  see  those  enormous  creatures  yet  alive." 

Meri  wether  Lewis  listened  in  silence.  Mr.  -  Jefferson 
turned  to  another  branch  of  his  theme. 

"I  fancy  that  some  time  there  will  be  a  canal  built 
across  the  isthmus  that  binds  this  continent  to  the  one 
below — a  canal  which  shall  connect  the  two  great 
oceans.  But  that  is  far  in  the  future.  It  is  for  you 
to  spy  out  the  way  now,  across  the  country  itself.  Ex 
plore  it — discover  it — it  is  our  new  world. 

"A  few  must  think  for  the  many/'  he  went  on.  "I 
had  to  smuggle  this  appropriation  through  Congress — 
twenty-five  hundred  dollars — the  price  of  a  poor  Vir 
ginia  farm!  I  have  tampered  with  the  Constitution 
itself  in  order  to  make  this  purchase  of  a  country  not 
included  in  our  original  territorial  lines.  I  have  taken 
my  own  chances — just  as  you  must  take  yours  now. 
The  finger  of  God  will  be  your  guide  and  your  pro 
tector.  Are  you  ready,  Captain  Lewis  ?  It  is  late." 

Indeed,  the  sun  was  rising  over  Washington,  the 
mists  of  morning  were  reeking  along  the  banks  of  the 
Potomac. 

"I  can  start  in  half  an  hour,"  replied  Meri  wether 
Lewis. 

"Are  your  men  ready,  your  supplies  gathered  to 
gether?" 

"The  rendezvous  is  at  Harper's  Ferry,  up  the  river. 
The  wagons  with  the  supplies  are  ready  there.  I  will 

95 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

take  boat  from  here  myself  with  a  few  of  the  men. 
Not  later  than  tomorrow  afternoon  I  promise  that  we 
will  be  on  our  way.  We  burn  the  bridges  behind  us, 
and  cross  none  until  we  come  to  them." 

"Spoken  like  a  soldier!  It  is  in  your  hands.  Go 
then!" 

There  was  one  look,  one  handclasp.  The  two  men 
parted;  nor  did  they  meet  again  for  years. 

Mr.  Jefferson  did  not  look  from  his  window  to  see 
the  departure  of  his  young  friend,  nor  did  the  latter 
again  call  at  the  door  to  say  good-by.  Theirs  was  in 
deed  a  warrior-like  simplicity. 

The  sun  still  was  young  when  Meriwether  Lewis 
at  length  descended  the  steps  of  the  Executive  Man 
sion, 

He  was  clad  now  for  his  journey,  not  in  buckskin 
hunting-garb,  but  with  regard  for  the  conventions  of 
a  country  by  no  means  free  of  convention.  His 
jacket  was  of  close  wool,  belted;  his  boots  were  high 
and  suitable  for  riding.  His  stock,  snowy  white — for 
always  Meriwether  Lewis  was  immaculate — rose  high 
around  his  throat,  in  spite  of  the  hot  summer  season, 
and  his  hands  were  gloved.  He  seemed  soldier, 
leader,  officer,  and  gentleman. 

No  retinue,  however,  attended  him ;  no  servant  was 
at  his  side.  He  went  afoot,  and  carried  with  him  his 
most  precious  luggage — the  long  rifle  which  he  never 
entrusted  to  any  hands  save  his  own.  Close  wrapped 
around  the  stock,  on  the  crook  of  his  arm,  and  not  yet 
slung  over  his  shoulder,  was  a  soiled  buckskin  pouch, 
which  went  always  with  the  rifle — the  "possible  sack" 


THE    PARTING 

of  the  wilderness  hunter  of  that  time.  It  contained 
his  bullets,  bullet-molds,  flints,  a  bar  or  two  of  lead, 
some  tinder  for  priming,  a  set  of  awls. 

Such  was  the  leader  of  one  of  the  great  expeditions 
of  the  world. 

Meriwether  Lewis  had  few  good-bys  to  say.  He 
had  written  but  one  letter — to  his  mother — late  the 
previous  morning.  It  was  worded  thus: 

The  day  after  tomorrow  I  shall  set  out  for  the  Western 
country.  I  had  calculated  on  the  pleasure  of  visiting  you 
before  I  started,  but  circumstances  have  rendered  it  impos 
sible.  My  absence  will  probably  be  equal  to  fifteen  or  eight 
een  months. 

The  nature  of  this  expedition  is  by  no  means  dangerous. 
My  route  will  be  altogether  through  tribes  of  Indians  friendly 
to  the  United  States,  therefore  I  consider  the  chances  of 
life  just  as  much  in  my  favor  as  I  should  conceive  them 
were  I  to  remain  at  home.  The  charge  of  this  expedition  is 
honorable  to  myseli ,  as  it  is  important  to  my  country. 

For  its  fatigues  I  feel  myself  perfectly  prepared,  nor  do  I 
doubt  my  health  and  strength  of  constitution  to  bear  me 
through  it.  I  go  with  the  most  perfect  preconviction  in  my 
own  mind  of  returning  safe,  and  hope,  therefore  that  you 
will  not  suffer  yourself  to  indulge  in  any  anxiety  for  my 
safety. 

I  will  write  again  on  my  arrival  at  Pittsburgh.  Adieu, 
and  believe  me  your  affectionate  son. 

No  regrets,  no  weak  reflections  for  this  man  with  a 
warrior's  weapon  on  his  arm — \vhere  no  other  burden 
might  lie  in  all  his  years.  His  were  to  be  the  comforts 
of  the  trail,  the  rude  associations  with  common  men, 
the  terrors  of  the  desert  and  the  mountain ;  his  fireside 
only  that  of  the  camp.  Yet  he  advanced  to  his  future 

97 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

steadily,  his  head  high,  his  eye  on  ahead — a  splendid 
figure  of  a  man. 

He  did  not  at  first  hear  the  gallop  of  hoofs  on  the 
street  behind  him  as  at  last,  a  mile  or  more  from  the 
White  House  gate,  he  turned  toward  the  river  front. 
He  was  looking  at  the  dull  flood  of  the  Potomac,  now 
visible  below  him;  but  he  paused,  something  appealing 
to  the  strange  sixth  sense  of  the  hunter,  and  turned. 

A  rider,  a  mounted  servant,  was  beckoning  to  him. 
Behind  the  horseman,  driven  at  a  stiff  gait,  came  a 
carriage  which  seemed  to  have  but  a  single  occupant. 
Captain  Lewis  halted,  gazed,  then  hastened  forward, 
hat  in  his  hand. 

"Mrs.  Alston!"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  carriage  came 
up.  "Why  are  you  here?  Is  there  any  news?" 

"Yes,  else  I  could  not  have  come." 

"But  why  have  you  come  ?    Tell  me !" 

He  motioned  the  outrider  aside,  sprang  into  the 
vehicle  and  told  the  driver  to  draw  a  little  apart  from 
the  more  public  street.  Here  he  caught  up  the  reins 
himself,  and,  ordering  the  driver  to  join  the  footman 
at  the  edge  of  the  roadway  they  had  left,  turned  to  the 
woman  at  his  side. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  he,  and  his  voice  was  cold;  "I 
thought  I  had  cut  all  ties." 

"Knit  them  again  for  my  sake,  then,  Meriwether 
Lewis!  I  have  brought  you  a  summons  to  return." 

"A  summons  ?     From  whom  ?" 

"My  father — Mr.  Merry — Senor  Yrujo.  They  were 
at  our  home  all  night.  We  could  not — they  could 
not — I  could  not — bear  to  see  you  sacrifice  yourself. 

98 


THE    PARTING 

This  expedition  can  only  fail!  I  implore  you  not  to 
go  upon  it!  Do  not  let  your  man's  pride  drive  you!" 

She  was  excited,  half  sobbing. 

"It  does  drive  me,  indeed/'  said  he  simply.  "I  am 
under  orders — I  am  the  leader  of  this  expedition  of 
my  government.  I  do  not  understand " 

"At  this  hour — on  this  errand — only  one  motive 
could  have  brought  me!  It  is  your  interest.  Oh,  it 
is  not  for  myself — it  is  for  your  future." 

"Why  did  you  come  thus,  unattended?  There  is 
something  you  are  concealing.  Tell  me !" 

"Ah,  you  are  harsh — you  have  no  sympathy,  no 
compassion,  no  gratitude!  But  listen,  and  I  will  tell 
you.  My  father,  Mr.  Merry,  the  Spanish  minister, 
are  all  men  of  affairs.  They  have  watched  the  plan 
ning  of  this  expedition.  Why  fly  in  the  face  of  proph 
ecy  and  of  Providence?  That  is  what  my  father 
says.  He  says  that  country  can  never  be  of  benefit  to 
our  Union — that  no  new  States  can  be  made  from  it. 
He  says  the  people  will  pass  down  the  Mississippi 
River,  but  not  beyond  it ;  that  it  is  the  natural  line  of 
our  expansion — that  men  who  are  actual  settlers  are 
bound  not  into  the  unknown  West,  but  into  the  well- 
known  South.  He  begs  of  you  to  follow  the  course 
of  events,  and  not  to  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence." 

"You  speak  well!     Go  on." 

"England  is  with  us,  and  Spain — they  back  my 
father's  plans." 

He  turned  now  and  raised  a  hand. 

"Plans?  What  plans?  I  must  warn  you,  I  am 
pledged  to  my  own  country's  service." 

99 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"Is  not  my  father  also?  He  is  one  of  the  highest 
officers  in  the  government  of  this  country." 

"You  may  tell  me  more  or  not,  as  you  like." 

"There  is  little  more  to  tell,"  said  she.  "These 
gentlemen  have  made  certain  plans  of  which  I  know 
little.  My  father  said  to  me  that  Thomas  Jefferson 
himself  knows  that  this  purchase  from  Napoleon  can 
not  be  made  under  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States — that,  given  time  for  reflection,  Mr.  Jefferson 
himself  will  admit  that  the  Louisiana  purchase  was 
but  a  national  folly  from  which  this  country  cannot 
benefit.  Why  not  turn,  then,  to  a  future  which  offers 
certainties?  Why  not  come  with  us,  and  not  attempt 
the  impossible  ?  That  is  what  he  said.  And  he  asked 
me  to  implore  you  to  pause." 

He  sat  motionless,  looking  straight  ahead,  as  she 
went  on. 

"He  only  besought  me  to  induce  you,  if  I  could, 
either  to  abandon  your  expedition  wholly  as  soon  as 
you  honorably  might  do  so,  or  to  go  on  with  it  only  to 
such  point  as  will  prove  it  unfeasible  and  impracticable. 
Not  wishing  you  to  prove  traitorous  to  a  trust,  these 
gentlemen  wish  you  to  know  that  they  would  value 
your  association — that  they  would  give  you  splendid 
opportunity.  With  men  such  as  these,  that  means  a 
swift  future  of  success  for  one — for  one — whom  I 
shall  always  cherish  warmly  in  my  heart." 

The  color  was  full  in  her  face.  He  turned  toward 
her  suddenly,  his  eye  clouded. 

"It  is  an  extraordinary  matter  in  every  way  which 
you  bring  for  me,"  he  said  slowly ;  "extraordinary  that 

100 


THE    PARTING 

foreigners,  not  friends  of  this  country,  should  call 
themselves  the  friends  of  an  officer  svrprn  to  tne  s^n/v 
ice  of  the  republic !  I  confess  I  do  not  understand  it. 
And  why  send  you?" 

"It  is  difficult  for  me  to  tell  you.  But  my  father 
knew  the  antagonism  between  Mr.  Jefferson  and  him 
self,  and  knew  your  friendship  for  Mr.  Jefferson.  He 
knew  also  the  respect,  the  pity — oh,  what  shall  I  say? 
— which  I  have  always  felt  for  you — the  regard " 

"Regard !     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  did  not  mean  regard,  but  the — the  wish  to  see  you 
succeed,  to  help  you,  if  I  could,  to  take  your  place 
among  men.  I  told  you  that  but  yesterday." 

She  was  all  confusion  now.     He  seemed  pitiless. 

"I  have  listened  long  enough  to  have  my  curiosity 
aroused.  I  shall  have  somewhat  to  ponder — on  the 
trail  to  the  West." 

"Then  you  mean  that  you  will  go  on?" 

"Yes!" 

"You  do  not  understand " 

"No!  I  understand  only  that  Mr.  Jefferson  has 
never  abandoned  a  plan  or  a  promise  or  a  friend. 
Shall  I,  then,  who  have  been  his  scholar  and  his 
friend?" 

"Ah,  you  two !  What  manner  of  men  are  you  that 
you  will  not  listen  to  reason?  He  is  high  in  power. 
Will  you  not  also  listen  to  the  call  of  your  own  am 
bition  ?  Why,  in  that  country  below,  you  might  hold 
a  station  as  proud  as  that  of  Mr.  Jefferson  himself. 
Will  you  throw  that  away,  for  the  sake  of  a  few  dried 
skins  and  flowers?  You  speak  of  being  devoted  to 

101 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

your  country.  What  is  devotion — what  is  your  coun 
try  f  ;You  have  no  heart — that  I  know  well ;  but  I 
credited  you  with  the  brain  and  the  ambition  of  a 
man!" 

He  sat  motionless  under  the  sting  of  her  reproaches ; 
and  as  some  reflection  came  to  her  upon  the  savagery 
of  her  own  words,  she  laughed  bitterly. 

"Think  you  that  I  would  have  come  here  for  any 
other  man  ?"  she  demanded.  "Think  you  that  I  would 
ask  of  you  anything  to  my  own  dishonor,  or  to  your 
dishonor?  But  now  you  do  not  listen,  You  will  not 
come  back — even  for  me!" 

In  answer  he  simply  bent  and  kissed  her  hand, 
stepped  from  the  carriage,  raised  his  hat.  Yet  he 
hesitated  for  half  an  instant  and  turned  back. 

"Theodosia,"  said  he,  "it  is  hard  for  me  not  to  do 
anything  you  ask  of  me — you  do  not  know  how  hard ; 
but  surely  you  understand  that  I  am  a  soldier  and 
am  under  orders.  I  have  no  option.  It  seems  to  me 
that  the  plans  of  your  father  and  his  friends  should  be 
placed  at  once  before  Mr.  Jefferson.  It  is  strange 
they  sent  you,  a  woman,  as  their  messenger!  You 
have  done  all  that  a  woman  could.  No  other  woman 
in  the  world  could  have  done  as  much  with  me.  But — 
my  men  are  waiting  for  me." 

This  time  he  did  not  turn  back  again. 

Colonel  Burr's  carriage  returned  more  slowly  than 
it  had  come.  It  was  a  dejected  occupant  who  at  last 
made  her  way,  still  at  an  early  hour,  to  the  door  of  her 
father's  house. 

102 


THE    PARTING 

Burr  met  her  at  the  door.  His  keen  eye  read  the 
answer  at  once. 

"You  have  failed !"  said  he. 

She  raised  her  dark  eyes  to  his,  herself  silent, 
mournful. 

"What  did  he  say?"  demanded  Burr. 

"Said  he  was  under  orders — said  you  should  go  to 
Mr.  Jefferson  with  your  plan — said  Mr.  Jefferson 
alone  could  stop  him.  Failed  ?  Yes,  I  failed !" 

"You  failed,"  said  Burr,  "because  you  did  not  use 
the  right  argument  with  him.  The  next  time  you 
must  not  fail.  You  must  use  better  arguments !" 

Theodosia  stood  motionless  for  an  instant,  looking 
at  her  father,  then  passed  back  into  the  house. 

"Listen,  my  daughter,"  said  Burr  at  length,  in  his 
eye  a  light  that  she  never  had  known  before.  "You 
must  see  that  man  again,  and  bring  him  back  into  our 
camp!  We  need  him.  Without  him  I  cannot  handle 
Merry,  and  without  Merry  I  cannot  handle  Yrujo. 
Without  them  my  plan  is  doomed.  If  it  fails,  your 
husband  has  lost  fifty  thousand  dollars  and  all  the 
moneys  to  which  he  is  pledged  beyond  that.  You  and 
I  will  be  bankrupt — penniless  upon  the  streets,  do  you 
hear  ? — unless  you  bring  that  man  back.  Granted  that 
all  goes  well,  it  means  half  a  million  dollars  pledged 
for  my  future  by  Great  Britain  herself,  half  as  much 
pledged  by  Spain,  success  and  future  honor  and  power 
for  you  and  me — and  him.  He  must  come  back! 
That  expedition  must  not  go  beyond  the  Mississippi. 
You  ask  me  what  to  tell  him  ?  Ask  him  no  longer  to 
return  to  us  and  opportunity.  Ask  him  to  come  back 
8  103 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

to  Theodosia  Burr  and  happiness — do  you  under 
stand?" 

"Sir,"  said  his  daughter,  "I  think— I  think  I  do  not 
understand !" 

He  seemed  not  to  hear  her — or  to  toss  her  answer 
aside. 

"You  must  try  again/'  said  he,  "and  with  the  right 
weapons — the  old  ones,  my  dear — the  old  weapons  of 
a  woman !" 


,      CHAPTER  IX 

MR.  THOMAS  JEFFERSON 

NOT  in  fifty  years,  said  Thomas  Jefferson  in  the 
last  days  of  his  life,  had  the  sun  caught  him  in 
bed.     On  this  morning,  having  said  good-by  to 
the  man  to  whose  hands  he  had  entrusted  the  dearest 
enterprise  of  all  his  life,  he  turned  back  to  his  desk  in 
the  little  office-room,  and  throughout  the  long  and 
heated  day,   following  a  night  spent  wholly  without 
sleep,  he  remained  engaged  in  his  usual  labors,  which 
were  the  heavier  in  his  secretary's  absence. 

He  was  an  old  man  now,  but  a  giant  in  frame,  a 
giant  in  mind,  a  giant  in  industry  as  well.  He  sat  at 
his  desk  absorbed,  sleepless,  with  that  steady  applica 
tion  which  made  possible  the  enormous  total  of  his 
life's  work.  He  was  writing  in  a  fine,  delicate  hand — 
legible  to  this  day— certain  of  those  thousands  of  let 
ters  and  papers  which  have  been  given  to  us  as  the 
record  of  his  career. 

fin  what  labor  was  the  President  of  the  United 
States  engaged  on  this  particularly  eventful  day?  It 
seems  he  found  more  to  do  with  household  matters 
than  with  affairs  of  state.  He  was  making  careful 
accounts  of  his  French  cook,  his  Irish  coachman,  his 

105 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

black  servants  still  remaining  at  his  country  house  in 
Virginia. 

All  his  life  Thomas  Jefferson  kept  itemized  in  ab 
solute  faithfulness  a  list  of  all  his  personal  expenses — - 
even  to  the  gratuities  he  expended  in  traveling  and  en 
tertainment.  We  find,  for  instance,  that  "John  Cramer 
is  to  go  into  the  service  of  Mr.  Jefferson  at  twelve 
dollars  a  month  and  twopence  for  drink,  two  suits  of 
clothes  and  a  pair  of  boots."  It  seems  that  he  bought 
a  bootjack  for  three  shillings;  and  the  cost  of  count 
less  other  household  items  is  as  carefully  set  down. 

We  may  learn  from  records  of  this  date  that  in  the 
past  year  Mr.  Jefferson  had  expended  in  charity  $i,- 
585.60.  He  tells  us  that  in  the  first  three  months  of 
his  presidency  his  expenses  were  $565.84 — and  he  was 
wrong  ten  cents  in  his  addition  of  the  total!  In  his 
own  hand  he  sets  down  "A  View  of  the  Consumption 
of  Butchers'  Meat  from  September  6,  1801,  to  June 
12,  1802."  He  knew  perfectly  well,  indeed,  what  all 
his  household  expenses  wrere,  also  what  it  cost  him  to 
maintain  his  stables.  He  did  all  this  bookkeeping 
himself,  and  at  the  end  of  each  year  was  able  to  tell 
precisely  where  his  funds  had  gone. 

We  may  note  one  such  annual  statement,  that  of 
the  year  ended  five  months  previous  to  the  time  when 
Captain  Lewis  set  forth  into  the  West : 

Provisions   $4,059.98 

Wines 1,296.63 

Groceries  1,624.76 

Fuel    553.68 

Secretary    600.00 

106 


MR.    THOMAS    JEFFERSON 

Servants 2,014.89 

Miscellaneous   433-3° 

Stable  399.06 

Dress 246.05 

Charities 1,585.60 

Pres.  House 226.59 

Books 497-41 

Household  expenses 393-OO 

Monticello — plantation 2,226.45 

—family    1,028.79 

Loans   274.00 

Debts  529-6i 

Asquisitions — lands  bought 2,156.86 

—buildings 3,567.92 

—carriages 363.75 

"          —furniture 664.10 


Total $24,682.45 

Mr.  Jefferson  says  in  rather  shamefaced  fashion  to 
his  diary: 

I  ought  by  this  statement  to  have  cash  in 

hand $183.70 

But  I  actually  have  in  hand 293.00 

So  that  the  errors  of  this  statement  amt 

to  109.20 

The  whole  of  the  nails  used  for  Monticello  and  smithwork 
are  omitted,  because  no  account  was  kept  of  them.  This 
makes  part  of  the  error,  and  the  article  of  nails  has  been  ex 
traordinary  this  year. 

There  was  a  curious  accuracy  in  the  analytical  tests 
which  Mr.  Jefferson  applied  to  all  the  ordinary  trans 
actions  of  life.  It  was  not  enough  for  him  to  know 
exactly  how  many  dollars  and  cents  he  had  expended ; 
he  must  know  what  should  be  the  average  result  of 
such  expenditures.  In  the  middle  of  a  life  of  tre- 

107 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

mendous  and  marvelously  varied  activities  he  finds 
time  to  leave  for  us  such  records  as  these : 

Mr.  Remsen  tells  me  that  six  cord  of  hickory  last  a  fire 
place  well  the  winter. 

Myrtle  candles  of  last  year  out. 

Pd  Farren  an  impudent  surcharge  for  Venetn  blinds,  2.66. 

Borrowed  of  Mr.  Maddison  order  on  bank  for  I5od. 

Enclosed  to  D.  Rittenhouse,  Lieper's  note  of  238.57d,  out 
of  which  he  is  to  pay  for  equatorial  instrument  for  me. 

Hitzeimer  says  that  a  horse  well  fed  with  grain  requires 
loo  Ib.  of  hay,  and  without  grain  130  Ib. 

T.  N.  Randolph  has  had  9  galls,  whisky  for  his  harvest. 

My  first  pipe  of  Termo  is  out — begun  soon  after  I  came 
home  to  live  from  Philadelphia. 

Agreed  with  Robt.  Chuning  to  serve  me  as  overseer  at 
Monticello  for  £25  and  600  Ib.  pork.  He  is  to  come  Dec.  I. 

Agreed  with Bohlen  to  give  300  livres  tournois  for 

my  bust  made  by  Ceracchi,  if  he  shall  agree  to  take  that  sum. 

My  daughter  Maria  married  this  day. 

March  16 — The  first  shad  at  this  market  to-day. 

March  28 — The  weeping  willow  shows  the  green  leaf. 

April    9 — Asparagus  come  to  table. 

April  10 — Apricots  blossom. 

April  12 — Genl.  Thaddeus  Kosciusko  puts  into  my  hands  a 
Warrant  of  the  Treasury  for  3,684.54d  to  have  bills  of  ex 
change  bought  for  him. 

May  8 — Tea  out,  the  pound  has  lasted  exactly  7  weeks, 
used'  6  times  a  week;  this  is  8-21  or  .4  of  an  oz.  a  time  'for  a 
single  person.  A  pound  of  tea  making  126  cups  costs  2d,  126 
cups  or  ounces  of  coffee — 8  Ib.  cost  1.6. 

May  18 — On  trial  it  takes  n  dwt.  Troy  of  double  re 
fined  maple  sugar  to  a  dish  of  coffee,  or  I  Ib.  avoirdupois  to 
26.5  dishes,  so  that  at  20  cents  per  Ib.  it  is  8  mills  per  dish. 
An  ounce  of  coffee  at  20  cents  per  Ib.  is  12.5  mills,  so  that 
sugar  and  coffee  of  a  dish  is  worth  2  cents. 

As  to  the  code  of  official  etiquette  which  we  have 
seen  to  exist  in  Washington,  the  President  himself 

1 08 


MR.    THOMAS    JEFFERSON 

was  responsible  for  it,  for  we  have,  written  out  in  his 
own  delicate  hand,  the  following  explicit  instruc 
tions  : 

The  families  of  foreign  ministers,  arriving  at  the  seat  of 
government,  receive  the  first  visit  from  those  of  the  national 
ministers,  as  from  all  other  residents.  Members  of  the  legis 
lature  and  of  the  judiciary,  independent  of  their  offices,  have 
a  right  as  strangers  to  receive  the  first  visit.  No  title  being 
admitted  here,  those  of  'foreigners  give  no  precedence.  Dif 
ference  of  grade  among  the  diplomatic  members  gives  no 
precedence. 

At  public  ceremonies  the  government  invites  the  presence 
of  foreign  ministers  and  their  families.  A  convenient  seat 
or  station  will  be  provided  for  them,  with  any  other  strangers 
invited,  and  the  families  of  the  national  ministers,  each  tak 
ing  place  as  they  arrive,  and  without  any  precedence. 

To  maintain  the  principle  of  equality,  or  of  pell-mell,  and 
prevent  the  growth  of  precedence  out  of  courtesy,  the  mem 
bers  of  the  executive  will  practise  at  their  own  houses,  and 
recommend  an  adherence  to  the  ancient  usages  of  the  coun 
try  of  gentlemen  in  mass  giving  precedence  to  the  ladies  in 
mass,  in  passing  from  one  apartment  where  they  are  as 
sembled  into  another. 

And  so  on,  through  reams  and  reams  of  a  strange 
man's  life  records. 

Why  should  we  care  to  note  his  curious  concern 
over  details?  The  answer  to  that  question  is  this — 
obviously,  Thomas  Jefferson's  estimate  of  a  man  must 
also  in  all  likelihood  have  been  curiously  exact.  He 
did  not  make  public  to  the  world  his  judgment  of 
Colonel  Aaron  Burr,  at  that  time  Vice-President  of 
the  United  States;  but  in  his  diary,  written  in  frank 
ness  by  himself  for  himself,  he  put  down  the  follow 
ing: 

109 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

I  have  never  seen  Colonel  Burr  till  he  became  a  member 
of  the  Senate.  His  conduct  very  soon  inspired  me  with  dis 
trust.  I  habitually  cautioned  Mr.  Madison  against  trusting 
him  too  much.  I  saw  that  under  General  W.  and  Mr.  Adams, 
where  a  great  military  appointment  or  a  diplomatic  one  was 
to  be  made,  he  came  post  to  Philadelphia  to  show  himself, 
and  in  fact  he  was  always  in  the  market  if  they  wanted  him. 
He  was  indeed  told  by  Dayton  in  1800  that  he  might  be  Sec 
retary  at  War,  but  this  bid  was  too  late.  His  election  as  Vice- 
President  was  then  foreseen.  With  these  impressions  of 
Colonel  Burr,  there  never  has  been  any  intimacy  between  us, 
and  but  little  association. 

A  certain  plan  of  this  same  Colonel  Burr's  now 
went  forward  in  such  fashion  as  involved  the  loyalty 
of  Meriwether  Lewis,  the  man  to  whom,  of  all  others 
of  his  acquaintance,  Thomas  Jefferson  gave  first  place 
in  trust  and  confidence  and  friendship — the  young 
man  who  but  now  was  making  his  unostentatious  de 
parture  on  the  great  adventure  that  they  two  had 
planned. 

His  garb  ill  cared-for,  his  hair  unkempt,  his  face  a 
trifle  haggard,  working  on  into  the  day  whose  dawn 
he  had  seen  arise,  the  tall,  gaunt  old  man  set  aside  first 
one  minor  matter,  then  another,  leaving  them  all  ex 
actly  finished.  At  last  he  wrote  down,  for  later  for 
warding,  the  last  item  of  his  own  knowledge  regarding 
the  new  country  into  which  he  had  sent  his  young 
friend. 

I  have  received  word  from  Paris  that  Mr.  Broughton,  one 
of  the  companions  o'f  Captain  Vancouver,  went  up  the  Co 
lumbia  River  one  hundred  miles  in  December,  1792.  He 
stopped  at  a  point  he  named  Vancouver.  Here  the  river 
Columbia  is  still  a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide.  From  this  point 

no 


MR.    THOMAS    JEFFERSON 

Mount  Hood  is  seen  about  twenty  leagues  distant,  which  is 
probably  a  dependency  of  the  Stony  Mountains.  Accept  my 
affectionate  salutations. 

This  was  the  last  word  Meri wether  Lewis  received 
from  his  chief.  As  the  latter  finished  it,  he  sat  looking 
out  of  the  window  toward  that  West  which  meant  so 
much  to  him. 

He  did  not  at  first  note  the  interruption  of  his 
reverie.  Long1  ago  he  had  made  public  his  announce 
ment  that  the  time  of  Thomas  Jefferson  belonged  to 
the  public,  and  that  he  might  be  seen  at  any  time  by 
any  man.  He  hesitated  now  but  a  moment,  therefore, 
when  old  Henry,  his  faithful  black,  threw  open  the 
door  and  stated  simply  that  there  was  "a  lady  wantin* 
to  see  Mistah  Jeffahson." 

"Who  is  she,  Henry  ?"  inquired  the  President  of 
the  United  States  mildly.  "I  am  somewhat  busy 
today." 

"  'Tain't  no  difFrence,  she  say — she  sho'ly  want  see 
Mistah  Jeffahson." 

The  tired  old  man  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders.  A  moment  later  the  persistent  caller  was  ushered 
into  the  office  of  the  nation's  chief  executive.  He  rose 
courteously  to  meet  her. 

It  was  Theodosia  Alston,  whom  he  had  known  from 
her  childhood.  Mr.  Jefferson  greeted  her  with  his 
hand  outstretched,  and,  her  arm  still  in  his,  led  her  to 
a  seat. 

"My  dear,"  said  he,  "you  will  pardon  our  confusion 
here,  I  am  sure.  There  are  many  matters " 

"I  know  it  is  an  intrusion,  Mr.  Jefferson,"  began 
in 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Theodosia  Alston  again,  her  face  flushing  swiftly. 
"But  you  are  so  good,  so  kind,  so  great  in  your 
patience  that  we  all  take  advantage  of  you.  And  yet 
you  are  so  tired,"  she  added  impulsively,  as  she  caught 
sight  of  his  haggard  face. 

"I  was  not  so  fortunate  as  to  find  time  for  sleep  last 
night."  He  smiled  again  with  humorous,  half  twisted 
mouth. 

"Nor  was  I." 

"Tut,  tut !  No,  no,  my  dear,  that  sort  of  thing  will 
not  do."  He  looked  at  her  in  silence  for  some  time. 
"Perhaps,  my  dear,"  said  he  at  last,  "you  come  re 
garding  Captain  Lewis?" 

"How  did  you  know?"  she  exclaimed,  startled. 

"Why  should  I  not  know?"  He  pushed  his  chair 
so  close  that  he  might  lay  a  hand  upon  her  arm. 
"Listen,  Theo,  my  child.  I  am  an  old  man,  and  I  am 
your  friend,  and  his  also.  I  had  need  to  be  very  blind 
had  I  not  known  long  ago  what  I  did  know.  I  am, 
perhaps,  the  only  confidant  of  Captain  Lewis,  and  I 
repose  in  him  confidences  that  I  would  venture  to  no 
other  man;  but  he  is  not  the  sort  to  speak  of  such 
matters.  It  is  only  by  virtue  of  exceptional  circum 
stances,  my  dear,  that  I  know  the  story  of  you  two." 

She  was  looking  straight  into  his  face,  her  eyes 
mournful. 

"I  was  glad  to  send  him  away,  sorely  as  I  miss  him. 
But  then,  you  said,  you  come  to  me  about  him  ?" 

"Yes,  after  he  is  gone — knowing  all  that  you  say — 
because  I  trust  your  great  kindness  and  your  chivalry. 
I  come  to  ask  you  to  call  him  back !  Oh,  Mr.  Jeffer- 

112 


MR.    THOMAS    JEFFERSON 

son,  were  it  any  other  man  in  the  world  but  yourself  I 
had  not  dared  come  here ;  but  you  know  my  story  and 
his.  It  is  your  right  to  believe  that  he  and  I  were — 
that  is  to  say,  we  might  have  been — ah,  sir,  how  can  I 
speak?" 

"You  need  not  speak,  my  dear,  I  know/' 

"I  shall  be  faithful  to  my  husband,  Mr.  Jefferson." 

The  old  man  nodded. 

"Captain  Lewis  knows  that  also.  He  would  be  the 
last  to  wish  it  otherwise.  But,  since  it  was  his  mis 
fortune  to  set  his  regard  upon  one  so  fair  as  yourself, 
and  since  fate  goes  so  hard  for  a  strong  man  like  him, 
then  I  must  admit  it  needed  strong  medicine  for  his 
case.  I  sent  him  away,  yes.  Would  you  ask  him 
back — for  any  cause?" 

In  turn  she  laid  a  small  hand  upon  the  President's 
arm. 

"Only  for  himself — for  that  reason  alone,  Mr.  Jef 
ferson,  and  not  to  change  your  plans — for  himself, 
because  you  love  him.  Oh,  sir,  even  the  greatest 
courts  sometimes  arrest  their  judgment  if  there  is  new 
evidence  to  be  introduced.  At  the  last  moment  jus 
tice  gives  a  condemned  man  one  more  chance." 

"What  is  it,  Theodosia?"  he  said  quietly.  "I  do 
not  grasp  all  this." 

"Able  men  say  that  this  government  cannot  take 
advantage  of  the  sale  of  Louisiana  to  us  by  Na 
poleon — that  our  Constitution  prevents  our  taking  over 
a  foreign  territory  already  populated  to  make  into  new 
States  of  our  own " 

"Good,  my  learned  counsel — say  on !" 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"Forgive  my  weak  wit — I  only  try  to  say  this  as  I 
heard  it,  well  and  plainly.'' 

"As  well  as  any  man,  my  dear!     Go  on." 

"Therefore,  even  if  Captain  Lewis  does  go  forward, 
he  can  only  fail  at  the  last.  This  is  what  is  said  by  the 
Federalists,  by  your  enemies." 

"And  perhaps  by  certain  of  my  own  party  not 
Federalists — by  Colonel  Aaron  Burr,  for  instance!" 
Thomas  Jefferson  smiled  grimly. 

"Yes !"     She  spoke  firmly  and  with  courage. 

"I  cannot  pause  to  inquire  what  my  enemies  say, 
my  dear  lady.  But  in  what  way  could  this  effect  our 
friend,  Captain  Lewis?  He  is  under  orders,  on  my 
errand." 

"I  saw  him  this  very  morning— I  took  my  reputa 
tion  in  my  hands — I  followed  him — I  urged  him,  I 
implored  him  to  stop!" 

"Yes?    And  did  he?" 

"Not  for  an  instant.  Ah,  I  see  you  smile !  I  might 
have  known  he  would  not.  He  said  that  nothing  but 
word  from  you  could  induce  him  to  hesitate  for  a 
moment." 

"My  dear  young  lady,  I  said  to  Captain  Lewis  that 
no  report  from  any  source  would  cause  me  for  an 
instant  to  doubt  his  loyalty  to  me.  If  anything  could 
shake  him  in  his  loyalty,  it  would  be  his  regard  for 
you  yourself ;  but  since  I  trust  his  honor  and  your  own, 
I  do  not  fear  that  such  a  conflict  can  ever  occur!" 

She  did  not  reply.  After  a  time  the  President  went 
on  gently: 

"My  dear,  would  you  wish  him  to  come  back — 
114 


MR.    THOMAS    JEFFERSON 

would  you  condemn  him  further  to  the  tortures  of  the 
damned  ?  And  would  you  halt  him  while  he  is  trying 
to  do  his  duty  as  a  man  and  a  soldier?  What  benefit 
to  you?" 

She  drew  up  proudly. 

"What  benefit,  indeed,  to  me?  Do  you  think  I 
would  ask  this  for  myself?  No,  it  was  for  him — it 
was  for  his  welfare  only  that  I  dared  to  come  to  you. 
And  you  will  not  hear  new  evidence?" 

But  now  she  was  speaking  to  Thomas  Jefferson,  the 
President  of  the  United  States,  man  of  affairs  as  well, 
man  of  firm  will  and  clear-cut  decision. 

"Madam/'  said  he,  coldly,  "in  this  office  we  do  a 
thing  but  once.  Had  I  condemned  yonder  young  man 
to  his  death — and  perhaps  I  have — I  would  not  now 
reconsider  that  decision.  I  would  not  speak  so  long 
as  this  over  it,  did  I  not  know  and  love  you  both — yes, 
and  grieve  over  you  both ;  but  what  is  written  is  writ 
ten." 

His  giant  hand  fell  lightly,  but  with  firmness,  on 
the  desk  at  his  side.  The  inexorableness  of  a  great 
will  was  present  in  the  room  as  an  actual  thing.  Tears 
swam  in  her  eyes. 

"You  would  not  hear  what  was  the  actual  cause  of 
my  wish  for  him " 

"No,  my  dear!     We  have  made  our  plans." 

"There  are  other  plans  afoot  these  days,  Mr.  Jeffer 
son." 

"Tut,  tut!  Are  you  my  enemy,  too?  Oh,  yes,  I 
know  there  are  enemies  enough  in  wait  for  me  and 
my  administration  on  every  side.  Yes,  I  know  a  plan — 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

I  know  of  many  such.  But  one  thing  also  I  do  know, 
madam,  and  it  is  this — not  all  the  enemies  on  this  earth 
can  alter  me  one  iota  in  this  undertaking  on  which  I 
have  sent  Captain  Lewis.  As  against  that  magnificent 
adventure  there  is  nothing  can  be  offered  as  an  offset, 
nothing  that  can  halt  it  for  an  instant.  No  reward  to 
him  or  me — nay,  no  reward  to  any  other  human  be 
ing — shall  stop  his  advancement  in  that  purpose  which 
he  shares  with  me.  If  he  fails,  I  fail  with  him — and 
all  my  life  as  well!" 

She  rose  now,  calm  before  the  imperious  quality  of 
his  nature,  so  unlike  his  former  gentleness. 

"You  refuse,  then,  Mr.  Jefferson?  You  will  not 
reopen  this  case?" 

"I  refuse  nothing  to  you  gladly,  my  dear  lady.  But 
you  have  seen  him — you  have  tested  him.  Did  he 
turn  back  ?  Shall  I,  his  friend  and  his  chief,  halt  him 
at  such  a  time?  Now  that  were  the  worst  kindness 
to  him  in  the  world.  And  I  am  convinced  that  you 
and  I  both  plan  only  kindness  for  him." 

Suddenly  he  saw  the  tears  in  her  eyes.  At  once  he 
was  back  again,  the  courteous  gentleman. 

"Do  not  weep,  Theodosia,  my  child,"  said  he.  "Let 
me  kiss  you,  as  your  father  or  your  grandfather 
would — one  who  holds  you  tenderly  in  his  heart.  For 
give  me  that  I  pass  sentence  on  you  both,  but  you  must 
part — you  must  not  ask  him  back.  There  now,  my 
dear,  do  not  weep,  or  you  will  make  me  weep.  Let 
me  kiss  you  for  him — and  let  us  all  go  on  about  our 
duties  in  the  world.  My  dear,  good-by!  You  must 

go." 

116 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  THRESHOLD  OF  THE  WEST 

MERIWETHER  LEWIS,  having  put  behind 
him  one  set  of  duties,  now  addressed  himself 
to  another,  and  did  so  with  care  and  thorough 
ness.  A  few  of  his  men,  a  part  of  his  outfitting,  he 
found  already  assembled  at  Harper's  Ferry,  up  the 
Potomac.  Before  sunset  of  the  first  day  the  little 
band  knew  they  had  a  leader. 

There  was  not  a  knife  or  a  tomahawk  of  the  entire 
equipment  which  he  himself  did  not  examine — not  a 
rifle  which  he  himself  did  not  personally  test.  He 
went  over  the  boxes  and  bales  which  had  been  gathered 
here,  and  saw  to  their  arrangement  in  the  transport- 
wagons.  He  did  all  this  without  bluster  or  ofncious- 
ness,  but  with  the  quiet  care  and  thoroughness  of  the 
natural  leader  of  men. 

In  two  days  they  were  on  their  way  across  the 
Alleghanies.  A  few  days  more  of  steady  travel  sufficed 
to  bring  them  to  Pittsburgh,  the  head  of  navigation  on 
the  Ohio  River,  and  at  that  time  the  American  capital 
in  the  upper  valley  of  the  West.  At  Pittsburgh  Cap 
tain  Lewis  was  to  build  his  boats,  to  cemplete  the 
details  of  his  equipment,  to  take  on  additional  men  for 

117 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

his  party — now  to  be  officially  styled  the  Volunteers 
for  the  Discovery  of  the  West.  He  lost  no  time  in 
urging  forward  the  necessary  work. 

The  young  adventurer  found  this  inland  town  half 
maritime  in  its  look.  Its  shores  were  lined  with  com 
merce  suited  to  a  seaport.  Schooners  of  considerable 
tonnage  lay  at  the  wharfs,  others  were  building  in  the 
busy  shipyards.  The  destination  of  these  craft  obvi 
ously  was  down  the  Mississippi,  to  the  sea.  Here  were 
vessels  bound  for  the  West  Indies,  bound  for  Phila 
delphia,  for  New  York,  for  Boston — carrying  the 
products  of  this  distant  and  little-known  interior. 

As  he  looked  at  this  commerce  of  the  great  West, 
pondered  its  limitations,  saw  its  trend  with  the  down- 
slant  of  the  perpetual  roadway  to  the  sea,  there  came 
to  the  young  officer's  mind  with  greater  force  certain 
arguments  that  had  been  advanced  to  him. 

He  saw  that  here  was  the  heart  of  America,  realized 
how  natural  was  the  insistence  of  all  these  hardy  West 
ern  men  upon  the  free  use  of  the  Mississippi  and  its 
tributaries.  He  easily  could  agree  with  Aaron  Burr 
that,  had  the  fleet  of  Napoleon  ever  sailed  from  Haiti 
— had  Napoleon  ever  done  otherwise  than  to  cede 
Louisiana  to  us — then  these  boats  from  the  Ohio  and 
the  Mississippi  would  at  this  very  moment,  perhaps,  be 
carrying  armed  men  down  to  take  New  Orleans,  as  so 
often  they  had  threatened. 

There  came,  however,  to  his  mind  not  the  slightest 
thought  of  alteration  in  his  own  plans.  With  him  it 
was  no  question  of  what  might  have  been,  but  of  what 
actually  was.  The  cession  by  Napoleon  had  been 

118 


THE    THRESHOLD    OF    THE    WEST 

made,  and  Louisiana  was  ours.  It  was  time  to  plot 
for  expeditions,  not  down  the  great  river,  but  across  it, 
beyond  it,  into  that  great  and  unknown  country  that 
lay  toward  the  farther  sea. 

The  keen  zest  of  this  vast  enterprise  came  to  him  as 
a  stimulus — the  feel  of  the  new  country  was  as  the 
breath  of  his  nostrils.  His  bosom  swelled  with  joy  as 
he  looked  out  toward  that  West  which  had  so  long 
allured  him — that  West  of  which  he  was  to  be  the 
discoverer,  The  carousing  riffraff  of  the  wharfs,  the 
flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  river  trade,  were  to  him  but 
passing  phenomena.  He  shouldered  his  way  among 
them  indifferently.  He  walked  with  a  larger  vision 
before  his  eyes. 

Now,  too,  he  had  news — good  news,  fortunate  news, 
joyous  news — none  less  than  the  long-delayed  answer 
of  his  friend,  Captain  William  Clark,  to  his  proposal 
that  he  should  associate  himself  with  the  Volunteers 
for  the  Discovery  of  the  West.  Misspelled,  scrawled, 
done  in  the  hieroglyphics  which  marked  that  remark 
able  gentleman,  William  Clark's  letter  carried  joy  to 
the  heart  of  Meriwether  Lewis.  It  cemented  one  of 
the  most  astonishing  partnerships  ever  known  among 
men,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  friendships  of  which 
history  leaves  note.  Let  us  give  the  strange  epistle  in 
Clark's  own  spelling: 

DEAR  MERNE: 

Yours  to  hand  touching  uppon  the  Expedishon  into  the 
Missourie  Country,  &  I  send  this  by  special  bote  up  the  river 
to  mete  you  at  Pts'brgh,  at  the  Foarks.  You  convey  a  moast 
welcome  and  appreciated  invitation  to  join  you  in  an  Enter 
prise  conjenial  to  my  Every  thought  and  Desire.  It  will  in 

9  IIQ 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

all  likelyhood  require  at  least  a  year  to  make  the  journey 
out  and  Return,  but  although  that  means  certain  Sacrifises 
of  a  personal  sort,  I  hold  such  far  less  than  the  pleasure  to 
enlist  with  you,  wh.  indeed  I  hold  to  be  my  duty  allso. 

I  need  not  say  how  content  I  am  to  be  associated  with  the 
man  moast  of  all  my  acquaintance  apt  to  achieve  Success  in 
an  undertaking  of  so  difficult  and  perlous  nature.  As  you 
know,  it  is  in  the  wilderness  men  are  moast  sevearly  tried, 
and  there  we  know  a  man.  I  have  seen  you  so  tried,  and  I 
Know  what  you  are.  I  am  proud  that  you  apeare  to  hold 
me  and  my  own  qualities  in  like  confident  trust  and  belief, 
and  I  shall  hope  to  merit  no  alteration  in  your  Judgment. 

There  is  no  other  man  I  would  go  with  on  such  an  under 
taking,  nor  consider  it  seriously,  although  the  concern  of  my 
•family  largely  has  been  with  things  military  and  adven 
turous,  and  we  are  not  new  to  life  among  Savidges.  Too 
well  I  know  the  dangers  of  bad  leadership  in  such  affairs,  yes 
and  my  brother,  the  General,  also,  as  the  story  of  Detroit 
and  the  upper  Ohio  country  could  prove.  All  of  that  coun 
try  should  have  been  ours  from  the  first,  and  only  lack  of 
courage  lost  it  so  long  to  us. 

You  are  so  kind  as  to  offer  me  a  place  equal  in  command 
with  you — I  accept  not  because  of  the  Rank,  which  is  no 
moving  consideration,  eather  for  you  or  for  me — but  be 
cause  I  see  in  the  jenerosity  o'f  the  man  proposing  such  a 
division  of  his  own  Honors,  the  best  assurance  of  success. 

You  will  find  me  at  or  near  the  Falls  of  the  Ohio  await 
ing  the  arrival  of  your  party,  which  I  taik  it  will  be  in  early 
August  or  the  Midel  of  that  month. 

Pray  convey  to  Mr.  Jefferson  my  humble  and  obedient  re 
spects,  and  thanks  for  this  honor  wh.  I  shall  endeavor  to 
merit  as  best  lies  within  m>  powers. 

With  all  affec'n,  I  remain, 

Your  friend, 

WM.  CLARK. 

P.  S. — God  alone  knows  how  mutch  this  all  may  mean  to 
You  and  me,  Merne — WILL. 

Clark,  then,  was  to  meet  him  at  the  Falls  of  the 
Ohio,  and  he,  too,  counseled  haste.  Lewis  drove  his 

1 20 


THE    THRESHOLD    OF    THE    WEST 

drunken,  lazy  workmen  in  the  shipyards  as  hard  as  he 
might,  week  after  week,  yet  found  six  weeks  elapsed 
before  at  last  he  was  in  any  wrise  fitted  to  set  forth. 
The  delay  fretted  him,  even  though  he  received  word 
from  his  chief  bidding  him  not  to  grieve  over  the  pos 
sible  loss  of  a  season  in  his  start,  but  to  do  what  he 
might  and  to  possess  his  soul  in  patience  and  in  con 
fidence. 

Recruits  of  proper  sort  for  his  purposes  did  not 
grow  on  trees,  he  found,  but  he  added  a  few  men  to 
his  party  now  and  then,  picking  them  slowly,  care 
fully.  One  morning,  while  engaged  in  his  duties  of 
supervising  the  work  in  progress  at  the  shipyards,  he 
had  his  attention  attracted  to  a  youth  of  some  seven 
teen  or  eighteen  years,  who  stood,  cap  in  hand,  at  a 
little  distance,  apparently  too  timid  to  accost  him. 

"What  is  it,  my  son?"  said  he.  "Did  you  wish  ta 
see  me?" 

The  boy  advanced,  smiling. 

"You  do  not  know  me,  sir.  My  name  is  Shannon — 
George  Shannon.  I  used  to  know  you  when  you  were 
stationed  here  with  the  army.  I  was  a  boy  then." 

"You  are  right — I  remember  you  perfectly.  So  you 
are  grown  into  a  strapping  young  man,  I  see !" 

The  boy  twirled  his  cap  in  his  hands. 

"I  want  to  go  along  with  you,  Captain,"  said  he 
shyly. 

"What?  You  would  go  with  me — do  you  know 
what  is  our  journey?" 

"No.  I  only  hear  that  you  are  going  up  the  Mis 
souri,  beyond  St.  Louis,  into  new  country.  They  say 

121 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

there  are  buffalo  there,  and  Indians.     'Tis  too  quiet 
here  for  me — I  want  to  see  the  world  with  you." 

The  young  leader,  after  his  fashion,  stood  silently 
regarding  the  other  for  a  time.  An  instant  served  him. 

"Very  well,  George/'  said  he.  "If  your  parents  con 
sent,  you  shall  go  with  me.  Your  pay  will  be  such  that 
you  can  save  somewhat,  and  I  trust  you  will  use  it  to 
complete  your  schooling  after  your  return.  There  will 
be  adventure  and  a  certain  honor  in  our  undertaking. 
If  we  come  back  successful,  I  am  persuaded  that  our 
country  will  not  forget  us." 

And  so  that  matter  was  completed.  Strangely 
enough,  as  the  future  proved,  were  the  fortunes  of 
these  two  to  intermingle.  From  the  first,  Shannon 
attached  himself  to  his  captain  almost  in  the  capacity 
of  personal  attendant. 

At  last  the  great  bateau  lay  ready,  launched  from  the 
docks  and  moored  alongside  the  wharf.  Fifty  feet 
long  it  was,  with  mast,  tholes  and  walking-boards  for 
the  arduous  up-stream  work.  It  had  received  a  part  of 
its  cargo,  and  soon  all  was  in  readiness  to  start. 

On  the  evening  of  that  day  Lewis  sat  down  to  pen 
a  last  letter  to  his  chief.  He  wrote  in  the  little  office- 
room  of  the  inn  where  he  was  stopping,  and  for  a  time 
he  did  not  note  the  presence  of  young  Shannon,  who 
stood,  as  usual,  silent  until  his  leader  might  address 
him. 

"What,  is  it,  George?"  he  asked  at  length,  looking 
up. 

"Someone  waiting  to  see  you,  sir — they  are  in  the 

parlor.    They  sent  me " 

122 


THE    THRESHOLD    OF    THE    WEST 

'They?     Who  are  they?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir.    She  asked  me  to  come  for  you." 

"She.     Who  is  she?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  She  spoke  to  her  father.  They 
are  in  the  room  just  across  the  hall,  sir." 

The  face  of  Meriwether  Lewis  was  pale  when 
presently  he  opened  the  door  leading  to  the  apart 
ment  which  had  been  indicated.  He  knew,  or 
thought  he  knew,  who  this  must  be.  But  why — 
why? 

The  interior  was  dim.  A  single  lamp  of  the  ineffi 
cient  sort  then  in  use  served  only  to  lessen  the  gloom. 
Presently,  however,  he  saw  awaiting  him  the  figure  he 
had  anticipated.  Yes,  it  was  she  herself.  Almost  his 
heart  stood  still. 

Theodosia  Alston  arose  from  the  spot  where  she  sat 
in  the  deeper  shadows,  and  came  forward  to  him. 
He  met  her,  his  hands  outstretched,  his  pulse  leaping 
eagerly  in  spite  of  his  reproofs.  He  dreaded,  yet 
rejoiced. 

"Why  are  you  here?"  he  asked  at  length. 

"My  father  and  I  are  on  a  journey  down  the  river 
to  visit  Mr.  Blennerhasset  on  his  island.  You  know 
his  castle  there?" 

"Why  is  it  that  you  always  come  to  torment  me  the 
more?  Another  day  and  I  should  have  been  gone!" 

"Torment  you,  sir?" 

"You  rebuke  me  properly.  I  presume  I  should  have 
courage  to  meet  you  always — to  speak  with  you — to 
look  into  your  eyes — to  take  your  hands  in  mine.  But 
I  find  it  hard,  terribly  hard !  Each  time  it  is  worse — 

123 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

because  each  time  I  must  leave  you.  Why  did  you  not 
wait  one  day  ?" 

She  made  no  reply.    He  fought  for  his  self-control. 

"Mr.  Jefferson,  how  is  he  ?"  he  demanded  at  length. 
"You  left  him  well?" 

"Unchangeable  as  flint.  You  said  that  only  the 
order  of  your  chief  could  change  your  plans.  I  sought 
to  gain  that  order — I  went  myself  to  see  Mr.  Jefferson, 
that  very  day  you  started.  He  said  that  nothing  could 
alter  his  faith  in  you,  and  that  nothing  could  alter  the 
plan  you  both  had  made.  He  would  not  call  you  back. 
He  ordered  me  not  to  attempt  to  do  so;  but  I  have 
broken  the  President's  command.  You  find  it  hard! 
Do  you  think  this  is  not  hard  for  me  also  ?" 

"These  are  strange  words.  What  is  your  motive? 
What  is  it  that  you  plan?  Why  should  you  seek  to 
stop  me  when  I  am  trying  to  blot  your  face  out  of  my 
mind  ?  Strange  labor  is  that — to  try  to  forget  what  I 
hold  most  dear !" 

"You  shall  not  leave  my  face  behind  you,  Captain 
Lewis!"  she  said  suddenly. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Theodosia?     What  is  it?" 

"You  shall  see  me  every  night  under  the  stars,  Meri- 
wether  Lewis.  I  will  not  let  you  go.  I  will  not  relin 
quish  you!" 

He  turned  swiftly  toward  her,  but  paused  as  if 
caught  back  by  some  mighty  hand. 

"What  is  it?"  he  said  once  more,  half  in  a  whisper. 
"What  do  you  mean?  Would  you  ruin  me?  Would 
you  see  me  go  to  ruin?" 

"No!  To  the  contrary,  shall  I  allow  you  to  hasten 
124 


THE    THRESHOLD    OF    THE    WEST 

into  the  usual  ruin  of  a  man  ?  If  you  go  yonder,  what 
will  be  the  fate  of  Meriwether  Lewis?  You  have 
spoken  beautifully  to  me  at  times — you  have  awakened 
some  feeling  of  what  images  a  woman  may  make  in  a 
man's  heart.  I  have  been  no  more  to  you  than  any 
woman  is  to  any  man — the  image  of  a  dream.  But, 
that  being  so  beautiful,  ought  I  to  allow  you  to  turn  it 
to  ruin  ?  Shall  I  let  you  go  down  in  savagery  ?  Ah,  if 
I  thought  I  were  relinquishing  you  to  that,  this  would 
be  a  heavy  day  for  me !" 

"Can  you  fancy  what  all  this  means  to  me?"  he 
broke  out  hoarsely. 

"Yes,  I  can  fancy.  And  what  for  me?  So  much 
my  feeling  for  you  has  been — oh,  call  it  what  you  like 
— admiration,  affection,  maternal  tenderness — I  do 
not  know  what — but  so  much  have  I  wished,  so  much 
have  I  planned  for  your  future  in  return  for  what  you 
have  given  me — ah,  I  do  not  dare  tell  you.  I  could  not 
dare  come  here  if  I  did  not  know  that  I  was  never  to 
see  or  speak  to  you  again.  It  tears  my  heart  from  my 
bosom  that  I  must  say  these  things  to  you.  I  have 
risked  all  my  honor  in  your  hands.  Is  there  no  reward 
for  that  ?  Is  my  recompense  to  be  only  your  assertion 
that  I. .torment  you,  that  I  torture  you?  What!  Is 
there  no  torture  for  me  as  well?  The  thought  that 
I  have  done  this  covertly,  secretly — what  do  you  think 
that  costs  me?" 

"Your  secret  is  absolutely  safe  with  me,  Theodosia. 
No,  it  is  not  a  secret!  We  have  sworn  that  neither 
of  us  would  lay  a  secret  upon  the  other.  I  swear  that 
to  you  once  more." 

12=; 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"And  yet  you  upbraid  me  when  I  say  I  cannot  give 
you  up  to  any  fate  but  that  of  happiness  and  success — 
oh,  not  with  me,  for  that  is  beyond  us  two — it  is  past 
forever.  But  happiness " 

"There  are  some  words  that  burn  deep,"  he  said 
slowly.  "I  know  that  I  was  not  made  for  happiness." 

"Does  a  woman's  wish  mean  nothing  to  you  ?  Have 
I  no  appeal  for  you?" 

Something  like  a  sob  was  torn  from  his  bosom. 

"You  can  speak  thus  with  me?"  he  said  huskily.  "If 
you  cannot  leave  me  happiness,  can  you  not  at  least 
leave  me  partial  peace  of  mind  ?" 

She  stood  slightly  swaying,  silent. 

"And  you  say  you  will  not  relinquish  me,  you  will 
not  let  me  go  to  that  fate  which  surely  is  mine  ?  You 
say  you  will  not  let  me  be  savage?  I  say  I  am  too 
nearly  savage  now.  Let  me  go — let  me  go  yonder  into 
the  wilderness,  where  I  may  be  a  gentleman !" 

He  saw  her  movement  as  she  turned,  heard  her 
sigh. 

"Sometimes,"  she  said,  "I  have  thought  it  worth  a 
•woman's  life  thrown  away  that  a  strong  man  may  suc 
ceed.  Failure  and  sacrifice  a  woman  may  offer — not 
much  more.  But  it  is  as  my  father  told  me !" 

"He  told  you  what?" 

"That  only  chivalry  would  ever  make  you  forget 
your  duty — that  you  never  could  be  approached 
through  your  weakness,  but  only  through  your 
strength,  through  your  honor.  I  cannot  approach  you 
through  your  strength,  and  I  would  not  approach  you 
through  your  weakness,  even  if  I  could.  No!  Wait. 

126 


THE    THRESHOLD    OF    THE    WEST 

Perhaps  some  day  it  will  all  be  made  clear  for  both  of 
us,  so  that  we  may  understand.  Yes,  this  is  torture  for 
us  both!" 

He  heard  the  soft  rustle  of  her  gown,  her  light  foot 
fall  as  she  passed ;  and  once  more  he  was  alone. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  TAMING  OF  PATRICK  GASS 

SHANNON,  go  get  the  men!" 
It  was  midnight.     For  more  than  an  hour 
Meriwether  Lewis  had  sat,  his  head  drooped, 
in  silence. 

"We  are  going  to  start  ?"  Shannon's  face  lightened 
eagerly.  "We'll  be  off  at  sunup  ?" 

Before  that.  Get  the  men — we'll  start  now!  I'll 
meet  you  at  the  wharf." 

Eager  enough,  Shannon  hastened  away  on  his  mid 
night  errand.  Within  an  hour  every  man  of  the  little 
party  was  at  the  water  front,  ready  for  departure. 
They  found  their  leader  walking  up  and  down,  his 
head  bent,  his  hands  behind  him. 

It  was  short  work  enough,  the  completion  of  such 
plans  as  remained  unfinished.  The  great  keel-boat 
lay  completed  and  equipped  at  the  wharf.  The 
men  lost  little  time  in  stowing  such  casks  and  bales 
as  remained  unshipped.  Shannon  stepped  to  his 
chief. 

"All's  aboard,  sir,"  said  he.    "Shall  we  cast  off?" 

Without  a  word  Lewis  nodded  and  made  his  way  to 
his  place  in  the  boat.  In  the  darkness,  without  a  shout 

128 


THE    TAMING   OF    PATRICK   GASS 

or  a  cheer  to  mark  its  passing-,  the  expedition  was 
launched  on  its  long  journey. 

Slowly  the  boat  passed  along  the  waterfront  of 
Pittsburgh  town.  Here  rose  gauntly,  in  the  glare  of 
torch  or  camp  fire,  the  mast  of  some  half -built 
schooner.  Houseboats  were  drawn  up  or  anchored 
alongshore,  long  pirogues  lay  moored  or  beached,  or 
now  and  again  a  giant  broadhorn,  already  partially 
loaded  with  household  goods,  common  carrier  for  that 
human  flood  passing  down  the  great  waterway,  stood 
out  blacker  than  the  shadows  in  which  it  lay. 

Here  and  there  camp  fires  flickered,  each  the  center 
of  a  ribald  group  of  the  hardy  rivermen.  Through 
the  night  came  sounds  of  roistering,  songs,  shouts. 
Arrested,  pent,  dammed  up,  the  lusty  life  of  that  great 
waterway  leading  into  the  West  and  South  scarce  took 
time  for  sleep. 

The  boat  slipped  on  down,  now  crossing  a  shaft  of 
light  flung  on  the  water  from  some  lamp  or  fire,  now 
blending  with  the  ghostlike  shadows  which  lay  in  the 
moonless  night.  It  passed  out  of  the  town  itself,  and 
edged  into  the  shade  of  the  forest  that  swept  contin 
uously  for  so  many  leagues  on  ahead. 

"Hello,  there !"  called  a  voice  through  the  darkness, 
after  a  time.  "Who  goes  there?" 

The  splash  of  a  sweep  had  attracted  the  attention  of 
someone  on  shore.  The  light  of  a  camp  fire  showed. 

Every  one  in  the  boat  looked  at  the  leader,  but  none 
vouchsafed  a  reply  to  the  hail. 

"Ahoy  there,  the  boat!"  insisted  the  same  voice. 

"Shall  I  fire  on  yez  to  make  yez  answer  a  civil  ques- 
129 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

tion  ?  Come  ashore  wance — I  can  lick  the  best  of  yez 
in  three  minutes,  or  me  name's  not  Patrick  Gass !" 

The  captain  of  the  boat  turned  slowly  in  his  seat, 
casting  a  glance  over  his  silent  crew. 

"Set  in !"  said  he,  sharply  and  shortly. 

Without  a  word  they  obeyed,  and  with  oar  and 
steering-sweep  the  great  craft  slowly  swung  inshore. 

Lewis  stepped  from  the  boat,  and,  not  waiting  to  see 
whether  he  was  followed — as  he  was  by  all  of  his  men 
— strode  on  up  the  bank  into  the  circle  of  light  made 
by  the  camp  fire.  About  the  fire  lay  a  dozen  or  more 
men  of  the  hardest  of  the  river  type,  which  was  saying 
quite  enough ;  for  of  all  the  lawless  and  desperate  char 
acters  of  the  frontier,  none  have  ever  surpassed  in 
reckless  audacity  and  truculence  the  men  of  the  old 
boat  trade  of  the  Ohio  and  the  Mississippi. 

These  fellows  lay  idly  looking  at  Lewis  as  he  entered 
the  light,  not  troubling  to  accost  him. 

"Who  hailed  us?"  demanded  the  latter  shortly. 

"Begorrah,  'twas  me,"  said  a  short,  strongly  built 
man,  stepping  forward  from  the  other  side  of  the  fire. 

Clad  in  loose  shirt  and  trousers,  like  most  of  his  com 
rades,  he  showed  a  powerful  man,  a  shock  of  reddish 
hair  falling  over  his  eyes,  a  bull-like  neck  rising  above 
his  open  shirt  in  such  fashion  that  the  size  of  his 
shoulder  muscles  might  easily  be  seen. 

"  'Twas  me  hailed  yez,  and  what  of  it?" 

"That  is  what  I  came  ashore  to  learn/'  said  Meri- 
weather  Lewis.  "We  are  about  our  business.  What 
concern  is  that  of  yours  ?  I  am  here  to  learn." 

"Yez  can  learn,  if  ye're  so  anxious,"  replied  the 
130 


THE    TAMING    OF    PATRICK    GASS 

other.  "Tis  me  have  got  three  drinks  of  Monongahaly 
in  me  that  says  I  can  whip  you  or  anny  man  of  your 
boat.  And  if  that  aint  cause  for  ye  to  come  ashore,  'tis 
no  fighting  man  ye  are,  an'  I'll  say  that  to  your  face !" 

It  was  the  accepted  fashion  of  challenge  known  any 
where  along  two  thousand  miles  of  waterway  at  that 
time,  in  a  country  where  physical  prowess  and  readi 
ness  to  fight  were  the  sole  tests  of  distinction.  Woe  to 
the  man  who  evaded  such  an  issue,  once  it  was  offered 
to  him! 

The  speaker  had  stepped  close  to  Lewis — so  close 
that  the  latter  did  not  need  to  advance  a  foot.  Instead, 
he  held  his  ground,  and  the  challenger,  accepting  this 
as  a  sign  of  willingness  for  battle,  rushed  at  him,  with 
the  evident  intent  of  a  rough-and-tumble  grapple  after 
the  fashion  of  his  kind.  To  his  surprise,  he  was  held 
off  by  the  leveled  forearm  of  his  opponent,  rigid  as  a 
bar  against  his  throat. 

At  this  rebuff  he  roared  like  a  bull,  and  breaking 
back  rushed  in  once  more,  his  giant  arms  flailing.  Lewis 
swung  back  half  a  step,  and  then,  so  quickly  that  none 
saw  the  blow,  but  only  its  result  was  visible,  he  shifted 
on  his  feet,  leaned  into  his  thrust,  and  smote  the  joyous 
challenger  so  fell  a  stroke  in  the  throat  as  laid  him 
quivering  and  helpless.  The  brief  fight  was  ended  all 
too  soon  to  suit  the  wishes  of  the  spectators,  used  to 
more  prolonged  and  bloodier  encounters. 

A  sort  of  gasp,  a  half  roar  of  surprise  and  anger, 
came  from  the  group  upon  the  ground.  Some  of  the 
party  rose  to  their  feet  menacingly.  They  met  the 
silent  front  of  the  boat  party,  the  clicking  of  whose 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

well-oiled  rifle-locks  offered  the  most  serious  of  warn 
ings. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  these  visitors,  so  silent  and 
so  prompt — the  swift  act  of  their  leader,  without 
threat,  without  warning — the  instant  readiness  of  the 
others  to  back  their  leader's  initiative — caught  every 
one  of  these  rude  fighting  men  in  the  sudden  grip  of 
surprise.  They  hesitated. 

"I  am  no  fighting  man/'  said  Meriwether  Lewis, 
turning  to  them;  "yet  neither  may  I  be  insulted  by  any 
lout  who  chooses  to  call  me  ashore  to  thrash  him. 
Do  you  think  that  an  officer  of  the  army  has  no  better 
business  than  that?  Who  are  you  that  would 
stop  us?" 

The  group  fell  back  muttering,  lacking  concerted 
action.  What  might  have  occurred  in  case  they  had 
reached  their  arms  was  prevented  by  the  action  of  the 
party  of  the  first  part  in  this  rencontre — of  the  second 
part,  perhaps,  he  might  better  have  been  called.  The 
fallen  warrior  sat  up,  rubbing  his  throat ;  he  struggled 
to  his  knees,  and  at  length  stood.  There  was  some 
thing  of  rude  river  chivalry  about  him,  after  all. 

"An  officer,  did  ye  say?"  said  he.  "Oh,  wirra! 
What  have  I  done  now,  and  me  a  soldier!  But  ye 
done  it  fair!  And  ye  nivver  wance  gouged  me  nor 
jumped  on  me  whin  I  was  down!  Begorrah,  I  felt 
both  me  eyes  to  see  if  they  was  in !  Ye  done  it  fair, 
and  ye're  an  officer  and  a  gintleman,  whoever  ye  be. 
I'd  like  to  shake  hands  with  ye !" 

"I  am  not  shaking  hands  with  ruffians  who  insult 
travelers,"  Captain  Lewis  sternly  rejoined;  but  he  saw 

132 


THE    TAMING    OF    PATRICK    GASS 

the  crestfallen  look  which  swept  over  the  strong  face 
of  the  other.  'There,  man,"  said  he,  "since  you  seem 
to  mean  well !" 

He  shook  hands  with  his  opponent,  who,  stung  by 
the  rebuke,  now  began  to  sniffle. 

"Sor,"  said  he,  "I  am  no  ruffian.  I  am  a  soldier  me- 
self,  and  on  me  way  to  join  me  company  at  Kaskasky, 
down  below.  Me  time  was  out  awhile  back,  and  I 
came  East  to  the  States  to  have  a  bit  av  a  fling  before 
I  enlisted  again.  Now,  what  money  I  haven't  give 
to  me  parents  I've  spint  like  a  man.  I  have  had  me 
flng  for  awhile,  and  I'm  goin'  back  to  sign  on  again. 
Sor,  I  am  a  sergeant  and  a  good  wan,  though  I  do  say 
it.  Me  record  is  clean.  I  am  Patrick  Gass,  first  ser 
geant  of  the  Tinth  Dragoons,  the  same  now  stationed 
at  Kaskasky.  Though  ye  are  not  in  uniform,  I  know 
well  enough  ye  are  an  officer.  Sor,  I  ask  yer  pardon 
— 'twas  only  the  whisky  made  me  feel  sportin'  like 
at  the  time,  do  ye  mind?" 

"Gass,  Patrick  Gass,  you  said?" 

"Yis,  sor,  of  the  Tinth.  Barrin'  me  love  for  fightin' 
I  am  a  good  soldier.  There  are  stripes  on  me  sleeves 
be  rights,  but  me  old  coat's  hangin'  in  the  barracks 
down  below." 

Lewis  stood  looking  curiously  at  the  man  before 
him,  the  power  of  whose  grip  he  had  felt  in  his  own. 
He  cast  an  eye  over  his  erect  figure,  his  easy  and  nat 
ural  dropping  into  the  position  of  a  soldier. 

"You  say  the  Tenth?"  said  he  briefly.  "You  have 
been  with  the  colors?  Look  here,  my  man,  do  you 
want  to  serve?" 

133 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"I  am  going  right  back  to  Kaskasky  for  it,  sor." 

"Why  not  enlist  with  us  ?  I  need  men.  We  are  off 
for  the  West,  up  the  Missouri — for  a  long  trip,  like 
enough.  You  seem  a  well-built  man,  and  you  have 
seen  service.  I  know  men  when  I  see  them.  I  want 
men  of  courage  and  good  temper.  Will  you  go?" 

"I  could  not  say,  sor.  I  would  have  to  ask  leave  at 
Kaskasky.  I  gave  me  word  I'd  come  back  after  I'd 
had  me  fling  here  in  the  East,  ye  see." 

"I'll  take  care  of  that.  I  have  full  authority  to  re 
cruit  among  enlisted  men." 

"Excuse  me,  sor,  ye  are  sayin'  ye  are  goin'  up  the 
Missouri?  Then  I  know  yez — yez  are  the  Captain 
Lewis  that  has  been  buildin'  the  big  boat  the  last  two 
months  up  at  the  yards — Captain  Lewis  from  Wash 
ington." 

"Yes,  and  from  the  Ohio  country  before  then — and 
Kentucky,  too.  I  am  to  join  Captain  Clark  at  the 
Point  of  Rocks  on  the  Ohio.  I  need  another  oar. 
Come,  my  man,  we  are  on  our  way.  Two  minutes 
ought  to  be  enough  for  you  to  decide." 

"I'll  need  not  the  half  of  two!"  rejoined  Patrick 
Gass  promptly.  "Give  me  leave  of  my  captain,  and  I 
am  with  yez !  There  is  nothin'  in  the  world  I'd  liever 
see  than  the  great  plains  and  the  buffalo.  'Tis  fond 
of  travel  I  am,  and  I'd  like  to  see  the  ind  of  the  world 
before  I  die." 

"You  will  come  as  near  seeing  the  end  of  it  with  us 
as  anywhere  else  I  know,"  rejoined  Lewis  quietly.  "Get 
your  war-bag  and  come  aboard." 

In  this  curious  fashion  Patrick  Gass  of  the  army — 

134 


THE    TAMING    OF    PATRICK    GASS 

later  one  of  the  journalists  of  the  expedition,  and 
always  one  of  its  most  faithful  and  efficient  members 
— signed  his  name  on  the  rolls  of  the  Lewis  and  Clark 
expedition. 

There  was  not  one  of  the  frontiersmen  in  the  boat 
who  had  any  comment  to  make  upon  any  phase  of  the 
transaction ;  indeed,  it  seemed  much  in  the  day's  work 
to  them.  But  from  that  instant  every  man  in  the  boat 
knew  he  had  a  leader  who  could  be  depended  upon  for 
prompt  and  efficient  action  in  any  emergency;  and 
from  that  moment,  also,  their  leader  knew  he  could 
depend  on  his  men. 

"I  have  nothing  to  complain  of,"  said  Patrick  Gass, 
addressing  his  new  friends  impartially,  as  he  shifted 
his  belongings  to  suit  him  and  took  his  place  at  a  row 
ing  seat.  "I  have  nothing  to  complain  of.  I've  been 
say  in'  I  would  like  to  have  one  more  rale  fight  before  I 
enlisted — the  army  is  too  tame  for  a  fellow  of  rale 
spirit.  None  o'  thim  at  the  camp  yonder,  where  I  was 
two  days,  would  take  it  on  with  me  after  the  first  day. 
I  was  fair  longin*  for  something  to  interest  me — and 
be  jabers,  I  found  it !  Now  I  am  continted  to  ind  me 
vacation  and  come  back  to  the  monothony  of  businss 
life." 

The  boat  advanced  steadily  enough  thereafter 
throughout  the  night.  They  pulled  ashore  at  dawn, 
and,  after  the  fashion  of  experienced  travelers,  were 
soon  about  the  business  of  the  morning  meal. 

The  leader  of  the  party  drew  apart  for  the  morning 
plunge  which  was  his  custom.  Cover  lacking  on  the 
bare  bar  where  they  had  landed,  he  was  not  fully  out 

1°  135 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

of  sight  when  at  length,  freshened  by  his  plunge,  he 
stood  drying  himself  for  dressing.  Unconsciously,  his 
arm  extended,  he  looked  for  all  the  world  the  very 
statue  of  the  young  Apoxyomenos  of  the  Vatican — the 
finest  figure  of  a  man  that  the  art  of  antiquity  has 
handed  down  to  us. 

As  that  smiling  youth  out  of  the  past  stood,  scraper 
in  hand,  drying  himself  after  the  games,  so  now  stood 
this  young  American,  type  of  a  new  race,  splendid  as 
the  Greeks  themselves  in  the  immortal  beauty  of  life. 
His  white  body  shining  in  the  sun,  every  rolling  muscle 
plainly  visible — even  that  rare  muscle  over  the  hip  be 
loved  of  the  ancients,  but  now  forgotten  of  sculptors, 
because  rarely  seen  on  a  man  today — so  comely  was 
he,  so  like  a  god  in  his  clean  youth,  that  Patrick  Gass, 
unhampered  by  backwardness  himself,  turned  to  his 
new  companions,  whom  already  he  addressed  each  by 
his  first  name. 

"George,"  said  he  to  young  Shannon,  "George,  saw 
ye  ever  the  like  of  yon?  What  a  man!  Lave  I  had 
knowed  he  could  strip  like  yon,  niver  would  I  have 
taken  the  chance  I  did  last  night.  'Tis  wonder  he 
didn't  kill  me — in  which  case  I'd  niver  have  had  me 
job.  The  Lord  loves  us  Irish,  anny  way  you  fix  it!" 


CHAPTER  XII 

CAPTAIN   WILLIAM    CLARK 

WILL!" 
"Merne!" 

The  two  young  men  gripped  hands  as  the 
great  bateau  swung  inshore  at  the  Point  of  Rocks  on 
the  Kentucky  side  of  the  Ohio.  They  needed  not  to  do 
more,  these  two.  The  face  of  each  told  the  other  what 
he  felt.  Their  mutual  devotion,  their  generosity  and 
unselfishness,  their  unflagging  unity  of  purpose,  their 
perfect  manly  comradeship — what  wonder  so  many 
have  called  the  story  of  these  two  more  romantic  than 
romance  itself? 

"It  has  been  long  since  we  met,  Will,"  said  Meri- 
wether  Lewis.  "I  have  been  eating  my  heart  out  up  at 
Pittsburgh.  I  got  your  letter,  and  glad  enough  I  was 
to  have  it.  I  had  been  fearing  that  I  would  have  to  go 
on  alone.  Now  I  feel  as  if  we  already  had  succeeded. 
I  cannot  tell  you — but  I  don't  need  to  try." 

"And  you,  Merne,"  rejoined  William  Clark — Cap 
tain  William  Clark,  if  you  please,  border  fighter,  leader 
of  men,  one  of  a  family  of  leaders  of  men,  tall,  gaunt, 
red-headed,  blue-eyed,  smiling,  himself  a  splendid  fig 
ure  of  a  man — "you,  Merne,  are  a  great  man  now, 

137 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

famous  there  in  Washington!  Mr.  Jefferson's  right- 
hand  man — we  hear  of  you  often  across  the  mountains. 
I  have  been  waiting  for  you  here,  as  anxious  as  your 
self." 

"The  water  is  low/'  complained  Lewis,  "and  a 
thousand  things  have  delayed  us.  Are  you  ready  to 
start?" 

"In  ten  minutes — in  five  minutes.  I  will  have  my 
boy  York  go  up  and  get  my  rifle  and  my  bags." 

"Your  brother,  General  Clark,  how  is  he?" 

William  Clark  shrugged  with  a  smile  which  had 
half  as  much  sorrow  as  mirth  in  it. 

"The  truth  is,  Merne,  the  general's  heart  is  broken. 
He  thinks  that  his  country  has  forgotten  him." 

"Forgotten  him?  From  Detroit  to  New  Orleans — 
we  owe  it  all  to  George  Rogers  Clark.  It  was  he  who 
opened  the  river  from  Pittsburgh  to  New  Orleans. 
He'll  not  need,  now,  to  be  an  ally  of  France  again. 
Once  more  a  member  of  your  family  will  be  in  at  the 
finding  of  a  vast  new  country !" 

"Merne,  I've  sold  my  farm.  I  got  ten  thousand 
dollars  for  my  place — and  so  I  am  off  with  you,  not 
with  much  of  it  left  in  my  pockets,  but  with  a  clean  bill 
and  a  good  conscience,  and  some  of  the  family  debts 
paid.  I  care  not  how  far  we  go,  or  when  we  come 
back.  I  thank  Mr.  Jefferson  for  taking  me  on  with 
you.  'Tis  the  gladdest  time  in  all  my  life !" 

"We  are  share  and  share  alike,  Will,"  said  his  friend 
Lewis,  soberly.  "Tell  me,  can  we  get  beyond  the  Mis 
sissippi  this  fall,  do  you  think?" 

"Doubtful,"  said  Clark.     "The  Spanish  of  the  val- 

138 


CAPTAIN    WILLIAM    CLARK 

ley  are  not  very  well  reconciled  to  this  Louisiana  sale, 
and  neither  are  the  French.  They  have  been  holding 
all  that  country  in  partnership,  each  people  afraid  of 
the  other,  and  both  showing  their  teeth  to  us.  But  I 
hear  the  commission  is  doing  well  at  St.  Louis,  and  I 
presume  the  transfer  will  be  made  this  fall  or  winter. 
After  that  they  cannot  stop  us  from  going  on.  Tell 
me,  have  you  heard  anything  of  Colonel  Burr's  plan  ? 
There  have  come  new  rumors  of  the  old  attempt  to 
separate  the  West  from  the  government  at  Washing 
ton,  and  he  is  said  to  have  agents  scattered  from  St. 
Louis  to  New  Orleans." 

He  did  not  note  the  sudden  flush  on  his  friend's 
face — indeed,  gave  him  no  time  to  answer,  but  went 
on,  absorbed  in  his  own  executive  details. 

"What  sort  of  men  have  you  in  your  party,  Merne?" 

"Only  good  ones,  I  think.  Young  Shannon  and  an 
army  sergeant  by  the  name  of  Gass,  Patrick  Gass — 
they  should  be  very  good  men.  I  brought  on  Collins 
from  Maryland  and  Pete  Weiser  from  Pennsylvania, 
also  good  stuff,  I  think.  McNeal,  Potts,  Gibson — I 
got  those  around  Carlisle.  We  need  more  men/' 

"I  have  picked  out  a  few  here,"  said  Clark.  "You 
know  Kentucky  breeds  explorers.  I  have  a  good 
blacksmith,  Shields,  and  Bill  Bratton  is  another  black 
smith — either  can  tinker  a  gun  if  need  be.  Then  I 
have  John  Coalter,  an  active,  strapping  chap,  and  the 
two  Fields  boys,  whom  I  know  to  be  good  men;  and 
Charlie  Floyd,  Nate  Pryor,  and  a  couple  of  others — 
Warner  and  Whitehouse.  We  should  get  the  rest  at 
the  forts  around  St.  Louis.  I  want  to  take  my  boy 

139 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

York  along — a  negro  is  always  good-natured  under 
hardship,  and  a  laugh  now  and  then  will  not  hurt  any 
of  us/' 

Lewis  nodded  assent. 

"Your  judgment  of  men  is  as  good  as  mine,  Will. 
But  come,  it  is  September,  and  the  leaves  are  falling. 
All  my  men  have  the  fall  hunt  in  their  blood — they  will 
start  for  any  place  at  any  moment.  Let  us  move.  Sup 
pose  you  take  the  boat  on  down,  and  let  me  go  across, 
horseback,  to  Kaskaskia.  I  have  some  business  there, 
and  I  will  try  for  a  few  more  recruits.  We  must  have 
fifty  men." 

"Nothing  shall  stop  us,  Merne,  and  we  cannot  start 
too  soon.  I  want  to  see  fresh  grass  every  night  for  a 
year.  But  you — how  can  you  be  content  to  punish 
yourself  for  so  long?  For  me,  I  am  half  Indian;  but 
I  expected  to  have  heard  long  ago  that  you  were  mar 
ried  and  settled  down  as  a  Virginia  squire,  raising 
tobacco  and  negroes,  like  anyone  else.  Tell  me,  how 
about  that  old  affair  of  which  you  once  used  to  confide 
to  me  when  we  were  soldiering  together  here,  years 
back?  'Twas  a  fair  New  York  maid,  was  it  not? 
From  what  you  said  I  fancied  her  quite  without  com 
parison,  in  your  estimate,  at  least.  Yet  here  you  are, 
vagabonding  out  into  a  country  where  you  may  be 
gone  for  years — or  never  come  back  at  all,  for  all  we 
know.  Have  a  care,  man — pretty  girls  do  not 
wait!'1 

As  he  spoke,  so  strange  a  look  passed  over  his 
friend's  face  that  William  Clark  swiftly  put  out  a 
hand. 

140 


CAPTAIN    WILLIAM    CLARK 

"What  is  it,  Merne?  Pardon  me!  Did  she — not 
wait?" 

His  companion  looked  at  him  gravely. 

"She  married,  something-  like  three  years  ago.  She 
is  the  wife  of  Mr.  Alston,  a  wealthy  planter  of  the 
Carolinas,  a  friend  of  her  father  and  a  man  of  station. 
A  good  marriage  for  her — for  him — for  both." 

The  sadness  of  his  face  spoke  more  than  his  words 
to  his  warmest  friend,  and  left  them  both  silent  for  a 
time.  William  Clark  ceased  breaking  bark  between 
his  fingers  and  flipping  away  the  pieces. 

"Well,  in  my  own  case,"  said  he  at  length,  "I  have 
no  ties  to  cut.  'Tis  as  well — we  shall  have  no  faces  of 
women  to  trouble  us  on  our  trails  out  yonder.  They 
don't  belong  there,  Merne — the  ways  of  the  trappers 
are  best.  But  we  must  not  talk  too  much  of  this,"  he 
added.  "I'll  see  you  yet  well  settled  down  as  a  Vir 
ginia  squire — your  white  hair  hanging  down  on  your 
shoulders  and  a  score  of  grandchildren  about  your 
knees  to  hamper  you." 

William  Clark  meant  well — his  friend  knew  that; 
so  now  he  smiled,  or  tried  to  smile. 

"Merne,"  the  red-headed  one  went  on,  throwing-  an 
arm  across  his  friend's  shoulders,  "pass  over  this  affair 
— cut  it  out  of  your  heart.  Believe  me,  believe  me,  the 
friendship  of  men  is  the  only  one  that  lasts.  We 
two  have  eaten  from  the  same  pannikin,  slept  under 
the  same  bear-robe  before  now — we  still  may  do  so. 
And  look  at  the  adventures  before  us !" 

"You  are  a  boy,  Will,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis, 
actually  smiling  now,  "and  I  am  glad  you  are  and  al- 

141 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

ways  will  be ;  because,  Will,  I  never  was  a  boy — I  was 
born  old.  But  now/*  he  added  sharply,  as  he  rose, 
"a  pleasant  journey  to  us  both — and  the  longer  the 
better!" 


CHAPTER    XIII 

UNDER   THREE   FLAGS 

THE  day  was  but  beginning  for  the  young  Amer 
ican  republic.  All  the  air  was  vibrant  with  the 
passion  of  youth  and  romance.  Yonder  in  the 
West  there  might  be  fame  and  fortune  for  any  man 
with  courage  to  adventure.  The  world  had  not  yet 
settled  down  to  inexorable  grooves  of  life,  from  which 
no  human  soul  might  fight  its  way  out  save  at  cost 
of  sweetness  and  content  and  hope.  The  chance  of 
one  man  might  still  equal  that  of  another — yonder,  in 
that  vast  new  world  along  the  Mississippi,  beyond  the 
Mississippi,  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago. 

Into  that  world  there  now  pressed  a  flowing,  seeth 
ing,  restless  mass,  a  new  population  seeking  new  ave 
nues  of  hope  and  life,  of  adventure  and  opportunity. 
Riflemen,  axmen,  fighting  men,  riding  men,  boatmen, 
plowmen — they  made  ever  out  and  on,  laughing  the 
Cossack  laugh  at  the  mere  thought  of  any  man  or  thing 
withstanding  them. 

Over  this  new  world,  alert,  restless,  full  of  Homeric 
youth,  full  of  the  lust  of  life  and  adventure,  floated 
three  flags.  The  old  war  of  France  and  Spain  still 
smoldered  along  the  great  waterway  into  the  South. 

143 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

The  flag  of  Great  Britain  had  withdrawn  itself  to  the 
North.  The  flag  of  our  republic  had  not  yet  advanced. 

Those  who  made  the  Western  population  at  that 
time  cared  little  enough  about  flags  or  treaty  rights. 
They  concerned  themselves  rather  with  possession. 
Let  any  who  liked  observe  the  laws.  The  strong  made 
their  own  laws  from  day  to  day,  and  wrote  them  in 
one  general  codex  of  adventure  and  full-blooded,  rois 
tering  life.  The  world  was  young.  Buy  land?  No, 
why  buy  it,  when  taking  it  was  so  much  more  simple 
and  delightful? 

Based  on  this  general  lust  of  conquest,  this  Saxon 
zeal  for  new  territories,  must  have  been  that  inspiration 
of  Thomas  Jefferson  in  his  venture  of  the  far  North 
west.  He  saw  there  the  splendid  vision  of  his  ideal 
republic.  He  saw  there  a  citizenry  no  longer  riotous 
and  roistering,  not  yet  frenzied  or  hysterical,  but 
strong,  sober,  and  constant.  His  was  a  glorious  vis 
ion.  Would  God  we  had  fully  realized  his  dream ! 

There  were  three  flags  afloat  here  or  there  in  the 
Western  country  then,  and  none  knew  what  land 
rightly  belonged  under  any  of  the  three.  Indeed,  over 
the  heart  of  that  region  now  floated  all  the  three  ban 
ners  at  the  same  time — that  of  Spain,  passing  but  still 
proud,  for  a  generation  actual  governor  if  not  actual 
owner  of  all  the  country  beyond  the  Mississippi,  so 
far  as  it  had  any  government  at  all;  that  of  France, 
owner  of  the  one  great  seaport,  New  Orleans,  settler 
of  the  valley  for  a  generation;  and  that  of  the  new 
republic  only  just  arriving  into  the  respect  of  men 
either  of  the  East  or  the  West — a  republic  which  had 

144 


UNDER    THREE    FLAGS 

till  recently  exacted  respect  chiefly  through  the  stark 
deadliness  of  its  fighting  and  marching  men. 

It  was  a  splendid  game  in  which  these  two  boys, 
Meriwether  Lewis  and  William  Clark — they  scarcely 
were  more  than  boys — now  were  entering.  And  with 
the  superb  unconsciousness  and  self-trust  of  youth, 
they  played  it  with  dash  and  confidence,  never  doubt 
ing  their  success. 

The  prediction  of  William  Clark  none  the  less  came 
true.  In  this  matter  of  flags,  autocratic  Spain  was 
not  disposed  to  yield.  De  Lassus,  Spanish  command 
ant  for  so  many  years,  would  not  let  the  young  trav 
elers  go  beyond  St.  Louis,  even  so  far  as  Charette. 
He  must  be  sure  that  his  country — which,  by  right  or 
not,  he  had  ruled  so  long — had  not  only  been  sold  by 
Spain  to  France,  but  that  the  cession  had  been  duly 
confirmed ;  and,  furthermore,  he  must  be  sure  that  the 
cession  by  France  to  the  United  States  had  also  been 
concluded  formally. 

Traders  and  trappers  had  been  passing  through  from 
the  plains  country,  yes — but  this  was  a  different  mat 
ter.  Here  was  a  flotilla  under  a  third  flag — it  must 
not  pass.  Spanish  official  dignity  was  not  thus  to  be 
shaken,  not  to  be  hurried.  All  must  wait  until  the 
formalities  had  been  concluded. 

This  delay  meant  the  loss  of  the  entire  winter.  The 
two  young  leaders  of  the  expedition  were  obliged  to 
make  the  best  of  it  they  could. 

Clark  formed  an  encampment  in  the  timbered  coun 
try  across  the  Mississippi  from  St.  Louis,  and  soon 
had  his  men  comfortably  ensconced  in  cabins  of  their 

145 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

own  building1.  Meanwhile  he  picked  up  more  men 
around  the  adjacent  military  posts — Ordway  and 
Howard  and  Frazer  of  the  New  England  regiment; 
Cruzatte,  Labiche,  Lajeunesse,  Drouillard  and  other 
voyagers  for  watermen.  They  made  a  hardy  and  ef 
ficient  band. 

Upon  Captain  Lewis  devolved  most  of  the  scientific 
work  of  the  expedition.  It  was  necessary  for  him  to 
spend  much  time  in  St.  Louis,  to  complete  his  store  of 
instruments,  to  extend  his  own  studies  in  scientific  mat 
ters.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the  success  of  the  expedition 
was  furthered  by  this  delay  upon  the  border. 

Twenty-nine  men  they  had  on  the  expedition  rolls 
by  spring — forty-five  in  all,  counting  assistants  who 
were  not  officially  enrolled.  Their  equipment  for  the 
entire  journey  out  and  back,  of  more  than  two  years 
in  duration,  was  to  cost  them  not  more  than  twenty- 
five  hundred  dollars.  A  tiny  army,  a  meager  equip 
ment,  for  the  taking  of  the  richest  empire  of  the  world! 

But  now  this  army  of  a  score  and  a  half  of  men  was 
to  witness  the  lowering  before  it  of  two  of  the  greatest 
flags  then  known  to  the  world.  It  already  had  seen 
the  retirement  of  that  of  Great  Britain.  The  wedge 
which  Burr  and  Merry  and  Yrujo  had  so  dreaded  was 
now  about  to  be  driven  home.  The  country  must  split 
apart — Great  Britain  must  fall  back  to  the  North — 
these  other  powers,  France  and  Spain,  must  make  way 
to  the  South  and  West. 

The  army  of  the  new  republic,  under  two  loyal  boys 
for  leaders,  pressed  forward,  not  with  drums  or  ban 
ners,  not  with  the  roll  of  kettledrums,  not  with  the 

146 


UNDER    THREE    FLAGS 

pride  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war.  The  soldiers 
of  its  ranks  had  not  even  a  uniform — they  were  clad 
in  buckskin  and  linsey,  leather  and  fur.  They  had  no 
trained  fashion  of  march,  yet  stood  shoulder  and  shoul 
der  together  well  enough.  They  were  not  drilled  into 
the  perfection  of  trained  soldiers,  perhaps,  but  each 
could  use  his  rifle,  and  knew  how  far  was  one  hun 
dred  yards. 

The  boats  were  coming  down  with  furs  from  the 
great  West — from  the  Omahas,  the  Kaws,  the  Osages. 
Keel  boats  came  up  from  the  lower  river,  mastering  a 
thousand  miles  and  more  of  that  heavy  flood  to  bring 
back  news  from  New  Orleans.  Broadhorns  and  keel- 
boats  and  sailboats  and  river  pirogues  passed  down. 

The  strange,  colorful  }ife  of  the  little  capital  of 
the  West  went  on  eagerly.  St.  Louis  was  happy ;  De 
troit  was  glum — the  fur  trade  had  been  split  in  half. 
Great  Britain  had  lost — the  furs  now  went  out  down 
the  Mississippi  instead  of  down  the  St.  Lawrence.  A 
world  was  in  the  making  and  remaking ;  and  over  that 
disturbed  and  divided  world  there  still  floated  the  three 
rival  flags. 

Five  days  before  Christmas  of  1803,  the  flag  of 
France  fluttered  down  in  the  old  city  of  New  Orleans. 
They  had  dreaded  the  fleet  of  Great  Britain  at  New 
Orleans — had  hoped  for  the  fleet  of  France.  They 
got  a  fleet  of  Americans  in  flatboats — rude  men  with 
long  rifles  and  leathern  garments,  who  came  under 
paddle  and  oar,  and  not  under  sail. 

Laussat  was  the  last  French  commandant  in  the  val 
ley.  De  Lassus,  the  Spaniard,  holding  onto  his  dig- 

147 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

nity  up  the  Missouri  River  beyond  St.  Louis,  still 
clung  to  the  sovereignty  that  Spain  had  deserted.  And 
across  the  river,  in  a  little  row  of  log  cabins,  lay  the 
new  army  with  the  new  flag — an  army  of  twenty-nine 
men,  backed  by  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  of  a 
nation's  hoarded  war  gold ! 

It  was  a  time  for  hope  or  for  despair — a  time  for 
success  or  failure — a  time  for  loyalty  or  for  treason. 
And  that  army  of  twenty-nine  men  in  buckskin  altered 
the  map  of  the  world,  the  history  of  a  vast  continent. 

While  Meriwether  Lewis  gravely  went  about  his 
scientific  studies,  and  William  Clark  merrily  went 
about  his  dancing  with  the  gay  St.  Louis  belles,  when 
not  engaged  in  drilling  his  men  beyond  the  river,  the 
winter  passed.  Spring  came.  The  ice  ceased  to  run 
in  the  river,  the  geese  honked  northward  in  millions, 
the  grass  showed  green  betimes. 

The  men  in  Clark's  encampment  were  almost  muti 
nous  with  lust  for  travel.  But  still  the  authorities  had 
not  completed  their  formalities;  still  the  flag  of  Spain 
floated  over  the  crossbars  of  the  gate  of  the  stone 
fortress,  last  stronghold  of  Spain  in  the  valley  of  our 
great  river. 

March  passed,  and  April.  Not  until  the  gth  of 
May,  in  the  year  1804,  were  matters  concluded  to  suit 
the  punctilio  of  France  and  Spain  alike.  Now  came 
the  assured  word  that  the  republic  of  the  United  States 
intended  to  stand  on  the  Louisiana  purchase,  Constitu 
tion  or  no  Constitution — that  the  government  purposed 
to  take  over  the  land  which  it  had  bought.  On  this 
point  Mr.  Jefferson  was  firm.  De  Lassus  yielded  now. 

148 


UNDER   THREE    FLAGS 

On  that  May  morning  the  soldiers  of  Spain  man 
ning  the  fortifications  of  the  old  post  stood  at  parade 
when  the  drums  of  the  Americans  were  heard.  One 
company  of  troops,  under  command  of  Captain  Stod- 
dard,  represented  our  army  of  occupation.  Our  real 
army  of  invasion  was  that  in  buckskin  and  linsey  and 
leather — twenty-nine  men ;  whose  captain,  Meriwether 
Lewis,  was  to  be  our  official  representative  at  the  cere 
mony  of  transfer. 

De  Lassus  choked  with  emotion  as  he  handed  over 
the  keys  and  the  archives  which  so  long  had  been 
under  his  charge. 

"Sir/'  said  he,  addressing  the  commander,  "I  speak 
for  France  as  well  as  for  Spain.  I  hand  over  to  you 
the  title  from  France,  as  I  hand  over  to  you  the  rule 
from  Spain.  Henceforth  both  are  for  you.  I  salute 
you,  gentlemen!" 

With  the  ruffle  of  the  few  American  drums  the 
transfer  was  gravely  acknowledged.  The  flag  of 
Spain  slowly  dropped  from  the  staff  where  it  had 
floated.  That  of  France  took  its  place,  and  for  one 
day  floated  by  courtesy  over  old  St.  Louis.  On  the 
morrow  arose  a  strange  new  flag — the  flag  of  the 
United  States.  It  was  supported  by  one  company  of 
regulars  and  by  the  little  army  of  joint  command — 
the  army  of  Lewis  and  Clark — twenty-nine  enlisted 
men  in  leather! 

"Time  now,  at  last!"  said  William  Clark  to  his 
friend.  "Time  for  us  to  say  farewell !  Boats — three 
of  them — are  waiting,  and  my  men  are  itching  to  see 
the  buffalo  plains.  What  is  the  latest  news  in  the  vil- 

149 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

lage,  Merne  ?"  he  added.  "I've  not  been  across  there 
for  two  weeks." 

"News  enough,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis  gravely. 
"I  just  have  word  of  the  arrival  in  town  of  none  other 
than  Colonel  Aaron  Burr. 

"The  Vice-President  of  the  United  States!  What 
does  he  here?  Tell  me,  is  he  bound  down  the  river? 
Is  there  anything  in  all  this  talk  I  have  heard  about 
Colonel  Burr  ?  Is  he  alone  ?" 

"No.  I  wish  he  were  alone.  Will,  she  is  with 
him — his  daughter,  Mrs.  Alston !" 

"Well,  what  of  that?  Oh,  I  know — I  know,  but 
why  should  you  meet?" 

"How  can  we  help  meeting  here  in  the  society  of 
this  little  town,  whose  people  are  like  one  family? 
They  have  been  invited  by  Mr.  Chouteau  to  come  to 
his  house — I  also  am  a  guest  there.  Will,  what  shall 
I  do?  It  torments  me!" 

"Oh,  tut,  tut!"  said  light-hearted  William  Clark. 
"What  shall  you  do?  Why,  in  the  first  place,  pull  the 
frown  from  your  face,  Merne.  Now,  this  young  lady 
forsakes  her  husband,  travels — with  her  father,  to  be 
sure,  but  none  the  less  she  travels — along  the  same 
trail  taken  by  a  certain  young  man  down  the  Ohio, 
up  the  Mississippi,  here  to  St.  Louis.  Should  you  call 
that  a  torment?  Not  I!  I  should  flatter  myself  over 
it.  A  torment?  Should  you  call  the  flowers  that 
change  in  sweetness  as  we  ride  along  through  the 
wood  a  torment  ?  Let  them  beware  of  me !  I  am  no 
respecter  of  fortune  when  it  comes  to  a  pretty  face, 
my  friend.  It  is  mine  if  it  is  here,  and  if  I  may 

150 


UNDER    THREE    FLAGS 

kiss  it — don't  rebuke  me,  Merne!  I  am  full  of  the 
joy  of  life.  Woman — the  nearest  woman — to  call  her 
a  torment !  And  you  a  soldier !  I  don't  blame  them. 
Torment  you?  Yes,  they  will,  so  long  as  you  allow 
it.  Then  don't  allow  it!" 

"You  preach  very  well,  Will.  Of  course,  I  know 
you  don't  practise  what  you  preach — who  does?" 

"Well,  perhaps!  But,  seriously,  why  take  life  so 
hard,  Merne?  Why  don't  you  relax — why  don't  you 
swim  with  the  current  for  a  time  ?  We  live  but  once. 
Tell  me,  do  you  think  there  was  but  one  woman  made 
for  each  of  us  men  in  all  the  world  ?  My  faith,  if  that 
be  true,  I  have  had  more  than  my  share,  I  fear,  as  I 
have  passed  along !  But  even  when  it  comes  to  marry 
ing  and  settling  down  to  hoeing  an  acre  of  corn-land 
and  raising  a  shoat  or  two  for  the  family — tell  me, 
Merne,  what  woman  does  a  man  marry?  Doesn't  he 
marry  the  one  at  hand — the  one  that  is  ready  and  wait 
ing?  Do  you  think  fortune  would  always  place  the 
one  woman  in  the  world  ready  for  the  one  man  at  the 
one  time,  just  when  the  hoeing  and  the  shoat-raising 
was  to  the  fore?  It  is  absurd,  man!  Nature  dares 
not  take  such  chances — and  does  not." 

Lewis  did  not  answer  his  friend's  jesting  argument. 

"Listen,  Merne,"  Clark  went  on.  "The  memory  of 
a  kiss  is  better  than  the  memory  of  a  tear.  No,  listen, 
Merne!  The  print  of  a  kiss  is  sweet  as  water  of  a 
spring  when  you  are  athirst.  And  the  spring  shows 
none  the  worse  for  the  taste  of  heaven  it  gave  you. 
Lips  and  water  alike — they  tell  no  tales.  They  are 
goods  the  gods  gave  us  as  part  of  life.  But  the  great 

11  11 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

thirst — the  great  thirst  of  a  man  for  power,  for  deeds, 
for  danger,  for  adventure,  for  accomplishment — ah, 
that  is  ours,  and  that  is  harder  to  slake,  I  am  thinking ! 
A  man's  deeds  are  his  life.  They  tell  the  tale." 

"His  deeds!  Yes,  you  are  right,  they  do,  indeed, 
tell  the  t?le.  Let  us  hope  the  reckoning  will  stand 
clean  at  last." 

"Merne,  you  are  a  soldier,  not  a  preacher." 
"Will,  you  are  neither — you  are  only  a  boy !" 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE   RENT   IN   THE  ARMOR 

AARON  BURR  came  to  St.  Louis  in  the  spring 
of  1804  as  much  in  desperation  as  with  definite 
plans.  Matters  were  going  none  too  well  for 
him.  All  the  time  he  was  getting  advices  from  the 
lower  country,  where  lay  the  center  of  his  own  auda 
cious  plans ;  but  the  thought  of  the  people  was  directed 
westward,  up  the  Missouri. 

The  fame  of  the  Lewis  and  Clark  expedition  now 
had  gathered  volume.  Constitution  or  no  Constitu 
tion,  the  purchase  of  Louisiana  had  been  completed, 
the  transfer  had  been  formally  made.  The  American 
wedge  was  driving  on  through.  If  ever  he  was  to  do 
anything  for  his  own  enterprise,  it  was  now  high  time. 

Burr's  was  a  mind  to  see  to  the  core  of  any  problem 
in  statecraft.  He  knew  what  this  sudden  access  of 
interest  in  the  West  indicated,  so  far  as  his  plans  were 
concerned.  It  must  be  stopped — else  it  would  be  too 
late  for  any  dream  of  Aaron  Burr  for  an  empire  of 
his  own. 

His  resources  were  dwindling.  He  needed  funds 
for  the  many  secret  agents  in  his  employ — needed  yet 
more  funds  for  the  purchase  and  support  of  his  lands 

153 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

in  the  South.  And  the  minister  of  Great  Britain  had 
given  plain  warning  that  unless  this  expedition  up  the 
Missouri  could  be  stopped,  no  further  aid  need  be 
expected  from  him. 

Little  by  little  Burr  saw  hope  slip  away  from  him. 
True,  Captain  Lewis  was  still  detained  by  his  duties 
among  the  Osage  Indians,  a  little  way  out  from  the 
city;  but  the  main  expedition  had  actually  started. 

William  Clark,  occupied  with  the  final  details,  did 
not  finally  get  his  party  under  way  until  five  days  after 
the  formal  transfer  of  the  new  territory  of  Louisiana 
to  our  flag,  and  three  days  after  Burr's  arrival.  At 
last,  however,  on  the  I4th  of  May,  the  three  boats  had 
left  St.  Louis  wharf,  with  their  full  complement  of 
men  and  the  last  of  the  supplies  aboard  for  the  great 
voyage.  Captain  Clark,  ever  light-hearted  and  care 
less  of  his  spelling-book,  if  not  of  his  rifle,  says  it  was 
"a  jentle  brease"  which  aided  the  oars  and  the  square- 
sail  as  they  started  up  the  river. 

Assuredly  the  bark  of  Aaron  Burr  was  sailing  under 
no  propitious  following  wind.  Distracted,  he  paced 
up  and  down  his  apartment  in  the  home  where  he  was 
a  guest,  preoccupied,  absorbed,  almost  ready  to  despair. 
He  spoke  but  little,  but  time  and  again  he  cast  an 
estimating  eye  upon  the  young  woman  who  accom 
panied  him. 

"You  are  ill,  Theodosia!"  he  exclaimed  at  last. 
"Come,  come,  my  daughter,  this  will  not  do!  Have 
you  no  arts  of  the  toilet  that  can  overcome  the  story 
of  your  megrims  ?  Shall  I  get  you  some  sort  of  bitter 
herbs?  You  need  your  brightest  face,  your  best 

154 


THE    RENT    IN    THE    ARMOR 

apparel  now.  These  folk  of  St.  Louis  must  see  us  at 
our  best,  my  dear,  our  very  best.  Besides " 

He  needed  not  to  complete  the  sentence.  Theodosia 
Alston  knew  well  enough  what  was  in  her  father's 
mind — knew  well  enough  why  they  both  were  here. 
It  was  because  she  would  not  have  come  alone.  And 
she  knew  that  the  burden  of  the  work  they  had  at 
heart  must  once  more  lie  upon  her  shoulders.  She 
once  more  must  see  Captain  Meriwether  Lewis — and 
it  must  be  soon,  if  ever.  He  was  reported  as  being 
ready  to  leave  town  at  once  upon  his  return  from  the 
Osage  Indians. 

But  courtesy  did  not  fail  the  young  Virginian,  and 
at  last — although  with  dread  in  his  own  heart — within 
an  hour  of  his  actual  departure,  he  called  to  pay  his 
compliments  to  guests  so  distinguished  as  these,  to  a 
man  so  high  in  rank  under  the  government  which  he 
himself  served.  He  found  it  necessary  to  apologize 
for  his  garb,  suited  rather  to  the  trail  than  to  the  draw 
ing-room.  He  stood  in  the  hall  of  the  Chouteau  home, 
a  picture  of  the  soldier  of  the  frontier  rather  than  the 
courtier  of  the  capital. 

His  three-cornered  military  hat,  his  blue  uniform 
coat — these  made  the  sole  formality  of  his  attire,  for 
his  feet  were  moccasined,  his  limbs  were  clad  in  tight- 
fitting  buckskins,  and  his  shirt  was  of  rough  linsey, 
suitable  for  the  work  ahead. 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  Colonel  Burr,"  said  he,  "for 
coming  to  you  as  I  am,  but  the  moment  for  my  start 
is  now  directly  at  hand.  I  could  not  leave  without 
coming  to  present  my  duties  to  you  and  Mrs.  Alston. 

155 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Indeed,  I  have  done  so  at  once  upon  my  return  to 
town.  I  pray  you  carry  back  to  Mr.  Jefferson  my 
sincerest  compliments.  Say  to  him,  if  you  will,  that 
we  are  setting  forth  with  high  hopes  of  success." 

Formal,  cold,  polite — it  was  the  one  wish  of  Cap 
tain  Lewis  to  end  this  interview  as  soon  as  he  might, 
and  to  leave  all  sleeping  dogs  lying  as  they  were. 

But  Aaron  Burr  planned  otherwise.  His  low,  deep 
voice  was  never  more  persuasive,  his  dark  eye  never 
more  compelling — nor  was  his  bold  heart  ever  more 
in  trepidation  than  now,  as  he  made  excuse  for  delay — 
delay — delay. 

"My  daughter,  Mrs.  Alston,  will  join  us  presently," 
he  said.  "So  you  are  ready,  Captain  Lewis?" 

"We  are  quite  prepared,  Colonel  Burr.  My  men 
are  on  ahead  two  days'  journey,  camped  at  St.  Charles, 
and  waiting  for  me  to  overtake  them.  Dr.  Saugrain, 
Mr.  Chouteau,  Mr.  Labadie — one  or  two  others  of 
the  gentlemen  in  the  city — are  so  kind  as  to  offer  me 
a  convoy  of  honor  so  far  as  St.  Charles.  We  are  quite 
flattered.  So  now  we  start — they  are  waiting  for  me 
at  the  wharf  now,  and  I  must  go.  All  bridges  are 
burned  behind  me!" 

"All  bridges  burned?" 

The  deep  voice  of  Aaron  Burr  almost  trembled. 
His  keen  eye  searched  the  face  of  the  young  man  before 
him. 

"Every  one,"  replied  the  young  Virginian.  "I  do 
not  know  how  or  when  I  may  return.  Perhaps  Mr. 
Clark  or  myself  may  come  back  by  sea — should  we 
ever  reach  the  sea.  We  can  only  trust  to  Providence." 

156 


THE    RENT    IN    THE    ARMOR 

He  was  bowing  and  extending  his  own  hand  in  fare 
well,  with  polite  excuses  as  to  his  haste — relieved  that 
his  last  ordeal  had  been  spared  him.  He  turned,  as  he 
felt  rather  than  heard  the  approach  of  another,  whose 
coming  caused  his  heart  almost  to  stop  beating — the 
woman  dreaded  and  demanded  by  every  fiber  of  his 
being. 

"Oh,  not  so  fast,  not  so  fast!"  laughed  Theodosia 
Alston  as  she  came  into  the  room,  offering  her  hand. 
"I  heard  you  talking,  and  have  been  hurrying  to  pretty 
myself  up  for  Captain  Lewis.  What?  Were  you 
trying  to  run  away  without  ever  saying  good-by  to 
me  ?  And  how  you  are  prettied  up !" 

Her  gaze,  following  her  light  speech,  resolved  itself 
into  one  of  admiration.  Theodosia  Alston,  as  she 
looked,  found  him  a  goodly  picture  as  he  stood  ready 
for  the  trail. 

"I  was  just  going,  yes,"  stammered  Meriwether 
Lewis.  "I  had  hoped — "  But  what  he  had  hoped  he 
did  not  say. 

"Why  might  we  not  walk  down  with  you  to  the 
wharf,  if  you  are  so  soon  to  go?"  she  demanded — her 
own  self-control  concealing  any  disappointment  she 
may  have  felt  at  her  cavalier  reception. 

"An  excellent  idea!"  said  Aaron  Burr,  backing  his 
daughter's  hand,  and  trusting  to  her  to  have  some 
plan.  "A  warrior  must  spend  his  last  word  with  some 
woman,  captain!  Go  you  on  ahead — I  surrender  my 
daughter  to  you,  and  I  shall  follow  presently  to  bid 
you  a  last  Godspeed.  You  said  those  other  gentlemen 
were  to  join  you  there?" 

157 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Meri wether  Lewis  found  himself  walking  down  the 
narrow  street  of  the  frontier  settlement  between  the 
lines  of  hollyhocks  and  budding  roses  which  fronted 
many  of  the  little  residences.  It  was  spring,  the  air 
was  soft.  He  was  young.  The  woman  at  his  side 
was  very  beautiful.  So  far  as  he  could  see  they  were 
alone. 

They  passed  along  the  street,  turned,  made  their  way 
down  the  rock-faced  bluff  to  the  water  front ;  but  still 
they  were  alone.  All  St.  Louis  was  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  wharf,  waiting  for  a  last  look  at  the  idol  of 
the  town. 

Theodosia  sighed. 

"And  so  Captain  Lewis  is  going  to  have  his  way  as 
usual  ?  And  he  was  going — in  spite  of  all — even  with 
out  saying  good-by  to  me!" 

"Yes,  I  would  have  preferred  that/' 

"Captain  Lewis  is  mad.  Look  at  that  river !  They 
say  that  when  the  boat  started  last  week  it  took  them 
an  hour  to  make  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  when  they  struck 
into  the  Missouri.  How  many  thousands  of  hours 
will  it  take  to  ascend  to  the  mountains?  How  will 
you  get  your  boats  across  the  mountains?  What  cas 
cades  and  rapids  lie  on  ahead  ?  Your  men  will  mutiny 
and  destroy  you.  You  cannot  succeed — you  will 
fail!" 

"I  thank  you,  madam !" 

"Oh,  you  must  start  now,  I  presume — in  fact,  you 
have  started;  but  I  want  you  to  come  back  before 
your  obstinacy  has  driven  you  too  far." 

"Just  what  do  you  mean  ?" 
158 


THE    RENT    IN    THE    ARMOR 

"Listen.  You  have  given  me  no  time,  unkind  as 
you  are — not  a  moment — at  an  hour  like  this!  In 
these  unsettled  times,  who  knows  what  may  happen? 
In  that  very  unsettlement  lies  the  probable  success  of 
the  plan  which  my  father  and  I  have  put  before  you  so 
often.  We  need  you  to  help  us.  When  are  you  go 
ing  to  come  back  to  us,  Merne  ?" 

As  she  spoke,  they  were  approaching  the  long  wharf 
along  the  water  front,  lined  with  rude  craft  which 
plied  the  rivers  at  that  time — flatboats,  keel-boats, 
pirogues,  canoes — and,  far  off  at  the  extremity  of  the 
line,  the  boat  which  Lewis  and  his  friends  were  to 
take.  A  party  of  idlers  and  observers  stood  about  it 
even  now.  The  gaze  of  the  young  leader  was  fixed 
in  that  direction.  He  did  not  make  any  immediate 
sign  that  he  had  heard  her  speech. 

"I  told  Shannon,  my  aide,  to  meet  me  here,"  he  said 
at  last.  "He  was  to  fetch  my  long  spyglass.  There 
are  certain  little  articles  of  my  equipment  over  yonder 
in  the  wharf  shed.  Would  you  excuse  me  for  just  a 
moment  ?" 

He  stooped  at  the  low  door  and  entered.  But  she 
followed  him — followed  after  him  unconsciously,  with 
out  plan,  feeling  only  that  he  must  not  go,  that  she 
could  not  let  him  away  from  her. 

She  saw  the  light  floating  through  the  door  fall  on 
his  dense  hair,  long,  loosely  bagged  in  its  cue.  She 
saw  the  quality  of  his  strong  figure,  in  all  the  fittings 
of  a  frontiersman,  saw  his  stern  face,  his  troubled  eye, 
saw  the  unconscious  strength  which  marked  his  every 
movement  as  he  strode  about,  eager,  as  it  seemed  to 

159 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

her,  only  to  be  done  with  his  last  errands,  and  away 
on  that  trail  which  so  long  had  beckoned  to  him. 

The  strength  of  the  man,  the  strength  of  his  pur 
pose — the  sudden  and  full  realization  of  both — this 
caught  her  like  a  tangible  thing,  and  left  her  no  more 
than  the  old,  blind,  unformed  protest.  He  must  not 
go!  She  could  not  let  him  go! 

But  the  words  she  had  spoken  had  caught  him,  after 
all.  He  had  been  pondering — had  been  trying  to  set 
them  aside  as  if  unheard. 

"Coming  back?"  he  began,  and  stopped  short  once 
more.  They  were  now  both  within  the  shelter  of  the 
old  building. 

"Yes,  Merne!"  she  broke  out  suddenly.  "When 
are  you  coming  back  to  me,  Merne  ?" 

He  stood  icy  silent,  motionless,  for  just  a  moment. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  if  he  was  made  of  stone.  Then 
he  spoke  very  slowly,  deliberately. 

"Coming  back  to  you?  And  you  call  me  by  that 
name?  Only  my  mother,  Mr.  Jefferson  and  Will 
Clark  ever  did  so." 

"Oh,  stiff-necked  man!  It  is  so  hard  to  be  kind 
with  you!  And  all  I  have  ever  done — every  time  I 
have  followed  you  in  this  way,  each  time  I  have  humili 
ated  myself  thus — it  always  was  only  in  kindness  for 
you!" 

He  made  no  reply. 

"Fate  ran  against  us,  Merne,"  she  went  on  trem 
blingly.  "We  have  both  accepted  fate.  But  in  a 
woman's  heart  are  many  mansions.  Is  there  none  in 
a  man's — in  yours — for  me  ?  Can't  I  ask  a  place  in  a 

160 


THE    RENT    IN    THE    ARMOR 

good  man's  heart — an  innocent,  clean  place?  Oh, 
think  not  you  have  had  all  the  unhappiness  in  your 
own  heart!  Is  all  the  world's  misery  yours?  I  don't 
want  you  to  go  away,  Merne,  but  if  you  do — if  you 
must — won't  you  come  back  ?  Oh,  won't  you,  Merne  ?" 

Her  voice  was  trembling,  her  hand  half  raised,  her 
eyes  sought  after  him.  She  stood  partly  in  shadow, 
the  flare  of  light  from  the  open  door  falling  over  her 
face.  She  might  have  been  some  saint  of  old  in 
pictured  guise;  but  she  was  a  woman,  alive,  beautiful, 
delectable,  alluring — especially  now,  with  this  tone  in 
her  voice,  this  strangely  beseeching  look  in  her  eyes. 

Her  hands  were  amost  lifted  to  be  held  out  to  him. 
She  stood  almost  inclined  to  him,  wholly  unconscious 
of  her  attitude,  forgetting  that  her  words  were  im 
ploring,  remembering  only  that  he  was  going. 

He  seemed  not  to  hear  her  voice  as  he  stood  there, 
but  somewhere  as  if  out  of  some  savage  past,  a  voice 
did  speak  to  him,  saying  that  when  a  man  is  sore 
athirst,  then  a  man  may  drink — that  the  well-spring 
would  not  miss  the  draft,  and  would  tell  no  tale 
of  it! 

He  stood,  as  many  another  man  has  stood,  and 
fought  the  fight  many  another  man  has  fought — the 
fight  between  man  the  primitve  and  man  the  gentle 
man,  chivalry  contending  with  impulse,  blood  warring 
with  breeding. 

"Yes!"  so  said  the  voice  in  his  ear.  "Why  should 
the  spring  grudge  a  draft  to  a  soul  aflame  with  an  un 
dying  thirst?  Vows?  What  have  vows  to  do  with 
this?  Duty?  What  is  duty  to  a  man  perishing?" 

161 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

These,  these — all  the  old  arguments  of  dishonor — 
made  themselves  heard  to  him  now — all  the  old  temp 
tations,  all  the  old  specious  pleas. 

Yes,  it  was  the  last  sight  he  would  ever  have  of  her. 
After  this,  whatever  had  been  in  his  mind  to  say  to  her 
must  remain  forever  unspoken.  Whatever  was  in  his 
heart  for  her  must  be  given  now  or  never.  Was  it 
right — was  it  possible  that  this  might  not  be? 

A  single,  little  chance  word,  a  nickname  of  endear 
ment — that  was  what  did  it.  That  little  spark, 
dropped  almost  by  chance,  worked  its  havoc  in  the 
tremendous  magazine  of  this  man's  nature. 

"Merne!"  she  had  said. 

What  she  wrought  with  that  one  word  was  mad 
ness.  Speaking  thus  unthinkingly,  striking  thus 
blindly,  she  had  won.  She  had  found  the  weak  place 
in  this  man's  armor — had  struck  him  through  his 
strength ! 

"To  you?  Come  back  to  you!  Ah,  would  God 
I  never  had  to  leave  you !" 

That  is  what  Meriwether  Lewis  thought  he  was 
saying,  when  he  tried  to  speak;  but  really  he  did  not 
make  articulate  speech  at  all.  For  a  moment  only 
meaningless  sounds  came  from  him;  but  at  length  he 
did  say  brokenly : 

"Theo— Theo!" 

The  flood  of  his  pent  nature  had  burst  forth  at 
last — the  stern  control  of  a  mighty  soul  was  gone. 

In  a  flash  he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  held  her,  kissed 
her — kissed  her  once! — the  imprint  of  soul  on  soul, 
life  on  life,  stern,  masterful,  as  if  the  time  had  come, 

162 


"'Oh,  Theo,  what  have  I  done?' 


THE    RENT    IN    THE    ARMOR 

the  great  hour  for  both  of  them;  and  indeed  it  was 
their  great  hour. 

But  he  started  back,  his  arms  half  spread,  arrested 
as  they  had  fallen  away  from  her  unprotesting  body. 
She  stood  motionless,  herself  now  a  woman  of  stone, 
speechless,  her  face  white.  She  tottered,  trembled, 
looked  about  for  some  support;  and  as  he  hastened  to 
her  once  more  he  saw  the  tears  come. 

She  wept  without  a  sob,  without  a  cry,  her  face 
white,  the  tears  welling  strongly  from  her  eyes,  from 
her  soul — her  hands  clasped  above  her  bosom.  She 
did  not  sob — only  those  blistering  tears  came  from  her 
soul.  She  wept  as  a  child  does  when  hurt  by  some 
thing  it  has  trusted — silently,  with  grief  too  great  for 
voice. 

As  for  him,  he  stood  accused  and  convicted  of  sacri 
lege.  He  had  forsworn  the  God  of  his  fathers,  had 
left  his  own  creed.  He  had  lifted  his  hand  to  what 
was  another's.  He  had  sinned  against  the  law ! 

Ah,  too  late  he  saw  all  the  speciousness  of  fehose 
arguments  of  lips  and  the  spring!  He  could  see  his 
kiss  flaming  on  her  lips  now — never  would  they  cease 
to  reproach  him. 

"Oh,  God,  what  have  I  done?  Theo,  I  have 
wronged  you !  I  never  thought  this  could  have  been. 
How  did  it  come?" 

She  did  not  speak,  and  he  went  on  trying — with  his 
trembling  hands — to  dry  her  tears. 

"Forgive  me,  Theo,  oh,  forgive  me !"  he  was  whis 
pering.  "It  was  not  I — I  do  not  know  what  it  was. 
Something  passed  by — something  with  mighty  wings 

163 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

— I  know  not  what  it  was.  I  heard  it.  I  felt  it. 
Forgive  me,  it  was  not  I  myself!  Oh,  Theo,  what 
have  I  done?" 

She  could  not  speak,  could  not  even  sob.  Neither 
horror  nor  resentment  was  possible  for  her,  nor  any 
protest,  save  the  tears  which  welled  silently,  terribly. 

Unable  longer  to  endure  this,  Meriwether  Lewis 
turned  to  leave  behind  him  his  last  hope  of  happiness, 
and  to  face  alone  what  he  now  felt  to  be  the  impene 
trable  night  of  his  own  destiny.  He  never  knew  when 
his  hands  fell  from  Theodosia  Alston's  face,  or  when 
he  turned  away;  but  at  last  he  felt  himself  walking, 
forcing  his  head  upright,  his  face  forward. 

He  passed,  a  tall,  proud  man  in  his  half-savage  trap 
pings — a  man  in  full  ownership  of  splendid  physical 
powers ;  but  as  he  walked  his  feet  were  lead,  his  heart 
was  worse  than  lead.  And  though  his  face  was  turned 
away  from  her,  he  knew  that  always  he  would  see 
what  he  had  left — this  picture  of  Theodosia  weeping — 
this  picture  of  a  saint  mocked,  of  an  altar  desecrated. 
She  wept,  and  it  was  because  of  him! 

The  dumb  cry  of  his  remorse,  his  despair,  must 
have  struck  back  to  where  she  still  stood,  her  hands  on 
her  bosom,  staring  at  him  as  he  passed : 

"Theo!  Theo!  What  have  I  done?  What  have 
I  done?" 


PART   II 


CHAPTER   I 

UNDER   ONE   FLAG 

WHAT  do  you  bring,  oh,  mighty  river — and 
what  tidings  do  you  carry  from  the  great 
mountains  yonder  in  the  unknown  lands? 
In  what  region  grew  this  great  pine  which  swims  with 
you  to  the  sea?  What  fat  lands  reared  this  heavy 
trunk,  which  sinks  at  last,  to  be  buried  in  the  sands  ? 

What  jewels  lie  under  your  flood?  What  rich  min 
erals  float  impalpably  in  your  tawny  waters?  Across 
what  wide  prairies  did  you  come — among  what  hills — 
through  what  vast  forests?  How  long,  great  river, 
was  your  journey,  sufficient  to  afford  so  tremendous  a 
gathering  of  the  waters? 

A  hundred  years  ago  the  great  Missouri  made  no 
answer  to  these  questions.  It  was  open  highway  only 
for  those  who  dared.  The  man  who  asked  its  secrets 
must  read  them  for  himself.  What  a  time  and  place 
for  adventure !  What  a  time  and  place  for  men ! 

From  sea  to  sea,  across  an  unknown,  fabled  moun 
tain  range,  lay  our  wilderness,  now  swiftly  trebled  by 
a  miracle  in  statecraft.  The  flag  which  floated  over 
the  last  stockade  of  Spain,  the  furthest  outpost  of 
France,  now  was  advancing  step  by  step,  inch  by  inch, 
13  167 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

up  the  giant  flood  of  the  Missouri,  borne  on  the  flag 
ship  of  a  flotilla  consisting  of  one  flatboat  and  two 
skiffs,  carrying  an  army  whose  guns  were  one  swivel 
piece  and  thirty  rifles. 

Not  without  toil  and  danger  was  this  enterprise  to 
advance.  When  at  length  the  last  smoke  of  a  settler's 
cabin  had  died  away  over  the  lowland  forest,  the  great 
river  began  in  earnest  to  exact  its  toll. 

Continually  the  boats,  heavily  laden  as  they  were, 
ran  upon  shifting  bars  of  sand,  or  made  long  detours 
to  avoid  some  chevaux  de  frise  of  white-headed  snags 
sunk  in  the  current  writh  giant  uptossing  limbs.  Float 
ing  trees  came  down  resistlessly  on  the  spring  rise, 
demanding  that  all  craft  should  beware  of  them ;  cav 
ing  banks,  in  turn,  warned  the  boats  to  keep  off;  and 
always  the  mad  current  of  the  stream,  never  relaxing 
in  vehemence,  laid  on  the  laboring  boats  the  added 
weight  of  its  mountain  of  waters,  gaining  in  volume 
for  nearly  three  thousand  miles. 

The  square  sail  at  times  aided  the  great  bateau  when 
the  wind  came  upstream,  but  no  sail  could  serve  for 
long  on  so  tortuous  a  water.  The  great  oars,  twenty- 
two  in  all,  did  their  work  in  lusty  hands,  hour  after 
hour,  but  sometimes  they  could  hardly  hold  the  boats 
against  the  power  of  the  June  rise.  The  setting  poles 
could  not  always  find  good  bottom,  but  sometimes  the 
men  used  these  in  the  old  keel  boat  fashion,  traveling 
along  the  walking-boards  on  the  sides  of  the  craft,  head 
down,  bowed  over  the  setting-poles — the  same  manner 
of  locomotion  that  had  conquered  the  Mississippi. 

.When  sail  and  oar  and  setting-pole  proved  unavail- 
168 


UNDER    ONE    FLAG 

ing,  the  men  were  out  and  overboard,  running  the 
banks  with  the  cordelle.  As  they  labored  thus  on  the 
line,  like  so  many  yoked  cattle,  using  each  ounce  of 
weight  and  straining  muscle  to  hold  the  heavy  boat 
against  the  current,  snags  would  catch  the  line,  stumps 
would  foul  it,  trees  growing  close  to  the  bank's  edge 
would  arrest  it.  Sometimes  the  great  boat,  swung 
sidewise  in  the  current  in  spite  of  the  last  art  of  the 
steersmen,  would  tauten  the  line  like  a  tense  fiddle- 
string,  flipping  the  men,  like  so  many  insects,  from 
their  footing,  and  casting  them  into  the  river,  to 
emerge  as  best  they  might. 

Cruzatte,  Labiche,  Drouillard — all  the  French  voy- 
ageurs — with  the  infinite  French  patience  smiled  and 
sweated  their  way  through.  The  New  Englanders 
grew  grim;  the  Kentuckians  fumed  and  swore.  But 
little  by  little,  inch  by  inch,  creeping,  creeping,  paying 
the  toll  exacted,  they  went  on  day  by  day,  leaving  the 
old  world  behind  them,  morning  by  morning  advanc 
ing  farther  into  the  new. 

The  sun  blistered  them  by  day ;  clouds  of  pests  tor 
mented  them  by  night ;  miasmatic  lowlands  threatened 
them  both  night  and  day.  But  they  went  on. 

The  immensity  of  the  river  itself  was  an  appalling 
thing;  its  bends  swept  miles  long  in  giant  arcs.  But 
bend  after  bend  they  spanned,  bar  after  bar  they 
skirted,  bank  after  bank  they  conquered — and  went  on. 
In  the  water  as  much  as  out  of  it,  drenched,  baked, 
gaunt,  ragged,  grim,  they  paid  the  toll. 

A  month  passed,  and  more.  The  hunters  exulted 
that  game  was  so  easy  to  get,  for  they  must  depend 

169 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

in  large  part  on  the  game  killed  by  the  way.  At  the 
mouth  of  the  Kansas  River,  near  where  a  great  city 
one  day  was  to  stand,  they  halted  on  the  twenty-sixth 
of  June.  Deer,  turkeys,  bear,  geese,  many  "goslins," 
as  quaint  Will  Clark  called  them,  rewarded  their  quest. 

July  came  and  well-nigh  passed.  They  reached  the 
mouth  of  the  great  Platte  River,  far  out  into  the  Indian 
country.  Over  this  unmapped  country  ranged  the 
Otoes,  the  Omahas,  the  Pawnees,  the  Kansas,  the 
Osages,  the  Rees,  the  Sioux.  This  was  the  buffalo 
range  where  the  tribes  had  fought  immemorially. 

It  was  part  of  the  mission  of  Captain  Lewis's  little 
army  to  carry  peace  among  these  warring  tribes.  The 
nature  of  the  expedition  was  explained  to  their  chiefs. 
At  the  great  Council  Bluffs  many  of  the  Otoes  came 
and  promised  to  lay  down  the  hatchet  and  cease  to 
make  war  against  the  Omahas.  The  Omahas,  in  turn, 
swore  allegiance  to  the  new  flag. 

On  ahead  somewhere  lay  the  powerful  Sioux  nation, 
doubt  and  dread  of  all  the  traders  who  had  ever  passed 
up  the  Missouri.  Dorion,  the  interpreter,  married 
among  them,  admitted  that  even  he  could  not  tell  what 
the  Sioux  might  do. 

The  expedition  struck  camp  at  last,  high  up  on  the 
great  river,  in  the  country  of  the  Yanktonnais.  The 
Sioux  long  had  marked  its  coming,  and  were  ready 
for  its  landing.  Their  signal  fires  called  in  the  villages 
to  meet  the  boats  of  the  white  men. 

They  came  riding  down  in  bands,  whooping  and 
shouting,  painted  and  half  naked,  well  armed — splen 
did  savages,  fearing  no  man,  proud,  capricious,  blood- 

170 


UNDER    ONE    FLAG 

thirsty.  They  were  curious  as  to  the  errand  of  these 
new  men  who  came  carrying  a  new  flag — these  men 
who  could  make  the  thunder  speak.  For  now  the 
heavy  piece  on  the  bow  of  the  great  barge  spoke  in  no 
uncertain  terms  so  that  its  echoes  ran  back  along  the 
river  shores.  No  such  boat,  no  such  gun  as  this,  had 
ever  been  seen  in  that  country  before. 

"Tell  them  to  make  a  council,  Dorion,"  said  Lewis. 
"Take  this  officer's  coat  to  their  head  man.  Tell  him 
that  the  Great  Father  sends  it  to  him.  Give  him  this 
hat  with  lace  on  it.  Tell  him  that  when  we  are  ready 
we  may  come  to  their  council  to  meet  their  chiefs.  Say 
that  only  their  real  chiefs  must  come,  for  we  will  not 
treat  with  any  but  their  head  men.  If  they  wish  to 
see  us  soon,  let  them  come  to  our  village  here." 

"You  are  chiefs!"  said  Dorioru  "Have  I  not  seen 
it?  I  will  tell  them  so/' 

But  Dorion  had  been  gone  but  a  short  time  when  he 
came  hurrying  back  from  the  Indian  village. 

"The  runners  say  plenty  buffalo  close  by/'  he  re 
ported.  "The  chief,  she'll  call  the  people  to  hunt  the 
buffalo/' 

Wiliam  Clark  turned  to  his  companion. 

"You  hear  that,  Mernc?"  said  he.  "Why  should  we 
not  go  also?" 

"Agreed!"  said  Meriwether  Lewis.  "But  stay,  I 
have  a  thought.  We  will  go  as  they  go  and  hunt  as 
they  do.  To  impress  an  Indian,  beat  him  at  his  own 
game.  You  and  I  must  ride  this  day,  Will !" 

"Yes,  and  without  saddles,  too!  Very  well,  I 
learned  that  of  my  brother,  who  learned  it  of  the  In- 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

dians  themselves.  And  I  know  you  and  I  both  can 
shoot  the  bow  as  well  as  most  Indians — that  was  part 
of  our  early  education.  I  might  better  have  been  in 
school  sometimes,  when  I  was  learning  the  bow." 

"Dorion,"  said  Lewis  to  the  interpreter,  "go  back 
to  the  village  and  tell  their  chief  to  send  two  bows  with 
plenty  of  arrows.  Tell  them  that  we  scorn  to  waste 
any  powder  on  so  small  a  game  as  the  buffalo.  On 
ahead  are  animals  each  one  of  which  is  as  big  as 
twenty  buffalo — we  keep  our  great  gun  for  those.  As 
for  buffalo,  we  kill  them  as  the  Indians  do,  with  the 
bow  and  with  the  spear.  We  shall  want  the  stiffest 
bows,  with  sinewed  backs.  Our  arms  are  very  strong." 

Swift  and  wide  spread  the  word  among  the  Sioux 
that  the  white  chiefs  would  run  the  buffalo  with  their 
own  warriors.  Exclamations  of  amusement,  surprise, 
satisfaction,  were  heard.  The  white  men  should  see 
how  the  Sioux  could  ride.  But  Weucha,  the  head 
man,  sent  a  messenger  with  two  bows  and  plenty  of 
arrows — short,  keen-pointed  arrows,  suitable  for  the 
buffalo  hunt,  when  driven  by  the  stiff  bows  of  the 
Sioux. 

"Strip,  Will,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis.  "If  we  ride 
as  savages,  it  must  be  in  full  keeping." 

They  did  strip  to  the  waist,  as  the  savages  always 
did  when  running  the  buffalo — sternest  of  all  savage 
sport  or  labor,  and  one  of  the  boldest  games  ever 
played  by  man,  red  or  white.  Clad  only  in  leggings 
and  moccasins,  their  long  hair  tied  in  firm  cues,  when 
Weucha  met  them  he  exclaimed  in  admiration.  The 
village  turned  out  in  wonder  to  see  these  two  men 

172 


UNDER    ONE    FLAG 

whose  skins  were  white,  whose  hair  was  not  black,  but 
some  strange  new  color — one  whose  hair  was  red. 

The  two  young  officers  were  not  content  with  this* 
York,  Captain  Clark's  servant,  rolling  his  eyes,  show 
ing  his  white  teeth,  was  ordered  to  strip  up  the  sleeve 
of  his  shirt  to  show  that  his  hide  was  neither  red  nor 
white,  but  black — another  wonder  in  that  land ! 

"Now,  York,  you  rascal,"  commanded  William 
Clark,  "do  as  I  tell  you!" 

"Yessah,  massa  Captain,  I  sut'nly  will !" 

"When  I  raise  this  flag,  do  you  drop  on  the  ground 
and  knock  your  forehead  three  times.  Groan  loud — 
groan  as  if  you  had  religion,  York!  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

"Yassah,  massa  Captain!" 

York  grinned  his  enjoyment ;  and  when  he  had  duly 
executed  the  maneuver,  the  Sioux  greeted  the  white 
men  with  much  acclamation. 

"I  see  that  you  are  chiefs!"  exclaimed  Weucha. 
"You  have  many  colors,  and  your  medicine  is  strong. 
Take,  then,  these  two  horses  of  mine — they  are  good 
runners  for  buffalo — perhaps  yours  are  not  so  fast." 
Thus  Dorion  interpreted. 

"Now,"  said  Clark,  "suppose  I  take  the  lance, 
Merne,  and  you  handle  the  bow.  I  never  have  tried 
the  trick,  but  I  believe  I  can  handle  this  tool." 

He  picked  up  and  shook  in  his  hand  the  short  lance, 
steel-tipped,  which  Weucha  was  carrying.  The  latter 
grinned  and  nodded  his  assent,  handing  the  weapon  ta 
the  red-haired  leader. 

"Now  we  shall  serve !"  said  Lewis  an  instant  later ; 

173 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

for  they  brought  out  two  handsome  horses,  one  coal- 
black,  the  other  piebald,  both  mettlesome  and  high- 
strung. 

That  the  young  men  were  riders  they  now  proved, 
for  they  mounted  alone,  barebacked,  and  managed  to 
control  their  mounts  with  nothing  but  the  twisted  hide 
rope  about  the  lower  jaw — the  only  bridle  known 
among  the  tribes  of  the  great  plains. 

The  crier  now  passed  down  the  village  street,  mar 
shaling  all  the  riders  for  the  chase.  Weucha  gave  the 
signal  to  advance,  himself  riding  at  the  head  of  the 
cavalcade,  with  the  two  white  captains  at  his  side — 
a  picture  such  as  any  painter  might  have  envied. 

Others  of  the  expedition  followed  on  as  might  be 
— Shannon,  Gass,  the  two  Fields  boys,  others  of  the 
better  hunters  of  the  Kentuckians.  Even  York,  not 
to  be  denied,  sneaked  in  at  the  rear.  They  all  rode 
quietly  at  first,  with  no  outcry,  no  sound  save  the 
steady  tramp  of  the  horses. 

Their  course  was  laid  back  into  the  prairie  for  a 
mile  or  two  before  a  halt  was  called.  Then  the  chief 
disposed  his  forces.  The  herd  was  supposed  to  be  not 
far  away,  beyond  a  low  rim  of  hills.  On  this  side  the 
men  were  ranged  in  line.  A  blanket  waved  from  a 
point  visible  to  all  was  to  be  the  signal  for  the 
charge. 

Dorion,  also  stripped  to  the  waist,  a  kerchief  bound 
about  his  head,  carrying  a  short  carbine  against  his 
thigh,  now  rode  alongside. 

"He  say  Weucha  show  you  how  Sioux  can  ride,"  he 
interpreted. 

174 


UNDER    ONE    FLAG 

"Tell  him  it  is  good,  Dorion,"  rejoined  Lewis.  "We 
will  show  him  also  that  we  can  ride!" 

A  shout  came  from  the  far  edge  of  the  restless  ranks. 
A  half-naked  rider  waved  a  blanket.  With  shrill 
shouts  the  entire  line  broke  at  top  speed  for  the  ridge. 

Neither  of  the  two  young  Americans  had  ever  en 
gaged  in  the  sport  of  running  the  buffalo ;  yet  now  the 
excitement  of  the  scene  caused  both  to  forget  all  else. 
They  urged  on  their  horses,  mingling  with  the  savage 
riders. 

The  buffalo  had  been  feeding  less  than  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  away ;  the  wind  was  favorable,  and  they  had  not 
yet  got  scent  of  the  approach ;  but  now,  as  the  line  of 
horsemen  broke  across  the  crest,  the  herd  streamed  out 
and  away  from  them — crude,  huge,  formless  creatures, 
with  shaggy  heads  held  low,  their  vast  bulk  making 
them  seem  almost  like  prehistoric  things.  The  dust  of 
their  going  arose  in  a  blinding  cloud,  the  thunder  of 
their  hoofs  left  inaudible  even  the  shrill  cries  of  the 
riding  warriors  as  they  closed  in. 

The  chase  passed  outward  into  an  open  plain,  which 
lay  white  in  alkali.  In  a  few  moments  the  swift  horses 
had  carried  the  best  of  the  riders  deep  into  the  dust- 
cloud  which  arose.  Each  man  followed  some  chosen 
animal,  doing  his  best  to  keep  it  in  sight  as  the  herd 
plowed  onward  in  the  biting  dust. 

Here  and  there  the  vast,  solid  surface  of  a  sea  of 
rolling  backs  could  be  glimpsed ;  again  an  opening  into 
it  might  be  seen  close  at  hand.  It  was  bold  work,  and 
any  who  engaged  in  it  took  his  chances. 

Lewis  found  his  horse,  the  black  runner  that  Weu- 

175 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

cha  had  given  him,  as  swift  as  the  best,  and  able  to 
lay  him  promptly  alongside  his  quarry.  At  a  dis 
tance  of  a  few  feet  he  drew  back  the  sinewy  string 
of  the  tough  Sioux  bow,  gripping  his  horse  with  his 
knees,  swaying  his  body  out  to  the  bow,  as  he  well 
knew  how.  The  shaft,  discharged  at  a  distance  of  but 
half  a  dozen  feet,  sank  home  with  a  soft  zut.  The 
stricken  animal  swerved  quickly  toward  him,  but  his 
wary  horse  leaped  aside  and  went  on.  Such  as  the 
work  had  been,  it  was  done  for  that  buffalo  at  least, 
and  Lewis  knew  that  he  had  caught  the  trick. 

The  black  runner  singled  out  another  and  yet  an 
other;  and  again  and  again  Lewis  shot — until  at  last, 
his  arrows  nearly  exhausted,  after  two  or  three  miles 
of  mad  speed,  he  pulled  out  of  the  herd  and  waited. 

In  the  white  dust-cloud,  lifted  now  and  then,  he 
could  see  naked  forms  swaying,  bending  forward,  ply 
ing  their  weapons.  Somewhere  in  the  midst  of  it,  out 
in  the  ruck  of  hoof  and  horn,  his  friend  was  riding, 
forgetting  all  else  but  the  excitement  of  the  chase. 
What  if  accident  had  befallen  either  of  them?  Lewis 
could  not  avoid  asking  himself  that  question. 

Now  the  riders  edged  through  the  herd,  outward, 
around  its  flank — turned  it,  were  crowding  it  back, 
milling  and  confused.  Out  of  the  dust  emerged 
two  figures,  naked,  leaning  forward  to  the  leap 
ing  of  their  horses.  One  was  an  Indian,  his  black 
locks  flowing,  his  eyes  gleaming,  his  hand  flogging  his 
horse  as  he  rode.  The  other  was  a  white  man,  his 
tall  white  body  splashed  with  blood,  his  long  red  hair, 
broken  from  his  cue,  on  his  shoulders. 


UNDER    ONE    FLAG 

The  two  were  pursuing  the  same  animal — a  young 
bull,  which  thus  far  had  kept  his  distance  some  fifty 
yards  or  so  ahead.  But  as  Lewis  looked,  both  riders 
urged  their  horses  to  yet  more  speed.  The  piebald  of 
William  Clark,  well  ridden,  sprang  away  in  advance 
and  laid  him  alongside  of  the  quarry.  Lewis  himself 
saw  the  poised  spear — saw  it  plunge — saw  the  buffalo 
stumble  in  its  stride — and  saw  his  companion  pass  on, 
whooping  in  exultation  at  Weucha,  who  came  up  an 
instant  later,  defeated,  but  grinning  and  offering  his 
hand.  Now  came  Dor  ion  also,  out  of  ammunition, 
yet  not  out  of  speech,  excited,  jabbering  as  usual. 

"Four  nice  cow  Fll  kill!''  gabbled  he.  "I'll  kill  him 
four  tarn,  bang,  bang !  Plenty  meat  for  my  lodge  now. 
How  many  you'll  shot,  Captain?"  he  asked  of  Lewis. 

"Plenty — you  will  find  them  back  there. " 

Weucha,  who  came  up  after  magnanimously  shak 
ing  the  hand  of  William  Clark,  peered  with  curiosity 
into  Lewis's  almost  empty  quiver.  He  smiled  again,  for 
that  the  white  men  had  ridden  well  was  obvious  enough. 
He  called  a  young  man  to  him,  showed  him  the  arrow- 
mark,  and  sent  him  back  to  see  how  many  of  the  dead 
buffalo  showed  arrows  with  similar  marks. 

In  time  the  messenger  came  back  carrying  a  sheaf 
of  arrows.  Grinning,  he  held  up  the  fingers  of  two 
hands. 

"Tell  him  that  is  nothing,  Dorion,"  said  Lewis. 
"We  could  have  killed  many  more  if  we  had  wished. 
We  see  that  the  Sioux  can  ride.  Now,  let  us  see  if 
they  can  talk  at  the  council  fire !" 

The  two  leaders  hastened  to  their  own  encampment 
177 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

to  remove  all  traces  of  the  hunt.  An  hour  later  they 
emerged  from  their  tents  clad  as  officers  of  the  army, 
each  in  cocked  hat  and  full  uniform,  with  sword  at 
side. 

With  the  fall  of  the  sun,  the  drums  sounded  in  the 
Indian  village.  The  criers  passed  along  the  street  sum 
moning  the  people  to  the  feast,  summoning  also 
the  chiefs  to  the  council  lodge.  Here  the  head 
men  of  the  village  gathered,  sitting  about  the  lit 
tle  fire,  the  peace  pipe  resting  on  a  forked  stick  be 
fore  them,  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  white  chiefs — 
who  could  make  the  thunder  come,  who  could  make 
a  strong  chief  of  black  skin  beat  his  head  upon  the 
ground;  and  who,  moreover,  could  ride  stripped  and 
strike  the  buffalo  even  as  the  Sioux. 

The  white  leaders  were  in  no  haste  to  show  them 
selves.  They  demanded  the  full  dignity  of  their  sta 
tion  ;  but  they  came  at  last,  their  own  drum  beating  as 
they  marched  at  the  head  of  their  men,  all  of  whom 
were  in  the  uniform  of  the  frontier. 

York,  selected  as  standard-bearer,  bore  the  flag  at 
the  head  of  the  little  band.  Meriwether  Lewis  took  it 
from  him  as  they  reached  the  door  of  the  council  lodge, 
and  thrust  the  staff  into  the  soil,  so  that  it  stood  erect 
beside  the  lance  and  shield  of  Weucha,  chief  of  the 
Yanktonnais.  Then,  leaving  their  own  men  on  guard 
without,  the  two  white  chiefs  stepped  into  the  lodge, 
and,  with  not  too  much  attention  to  the  chiefs  sitting 
and  waiting  for  them,  took  their  own  places  in  the  seat 
of  honor.  They  removed  their  hats,  shook  free  their 
hair — which  had  been  loosened  from  the  cues;  and  so, 

178 


UNDER    ONE    FLAG 

in  dignified  silence,  not  looking  about  them,  they  sat, 
their  long  locks  spread  out  on  their  shoulders. 

Exclamations  of  excitement  broke  even  from  the 
dignified  Sioux  chiefs.  Clearly  the  appearance  and 
the  conduct  of  the  two  officers  had  made  a  good  im 
pression.  The  circle  eyed  them  with  respect. 

At  length  Meriwether  Lewis,  holding  in  his  hand 
the  great  peace  pipe  that  he  had  brought,  arose. 

"Weucha,"  said  he,  Dorion  interpreting  for  him, 
"you  are  head  man  of  the  Yanktonnais.  I  offer  you 
this  pipe.  Let  us  smoke.  We  are  at  peace.  We  are 
children  of  the  Great  Father,  and  I  do  not  bring  war. 
I  have  put  a  flag  outside  the  lodge.  It  is  your  flag. 
You  must  keep  it.  Each  night  you  must  take  it  down, 
roll  it  up,  and  put  it  in  a  parfleche,  so  that  it  will  not  be 
torn  or  soiled.  Whenever  you  have  a  great  feast,  or 
meet  other  peoples,  let  it  fly  at  your  door.  It  is  because 
you  are  a  chief  that  I  give  you  this  flag.  I  gave  one 
to  the  Omahas,  another  to  the  Otoes.  Let  there  be  no 
more  war  between  you.  You  are  under  one  flag  now. 

"I  give  you  this  medal,  Weucha,  this  picture  on 
white  iron.  See,  it  has  the  picture  of  the  Great 
Father  himself,  my  chief,  who  lives  where  the  sun 
rises.  I  also  give  you  this  writing,  where  I  have  made 
my  sign,  and  where  the  red-headed  chief,  my  brother, 
has  made  his  sign.  Keep  these  things,  so  that  any  who 
come  here  may  know  that  you  are  our  friends,  that 
you  are  the  children  of  the  Great  Father. 

"Weucha,  they  told  us  that  the  Sioux  were  bad  in 
heart,  that  you  would  say  we  could  not  go  up  the  river. 
Our  Great  Father  has  sent  us  up  the  river,  and  we  must 

179 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

go.  Tomorrow  our  boats  must  be  on  their  course.  If 
the  Great  Father  has  such  medicine  as  this  I  give  you, 
do  you  think  we  could  go  back  to  him  and  say  the 
Sioux  would  not  let  us  pass?  You  have  seen  that  we 
are  not  afraid,  that  we  are  chiefs — we  can  do  what  you 
can  do.  Can  you  do  what  we  can  ?  Can  you  make  the 
thunder  come?  Is  there  any  among  you  who  has  a 
black  skin,  like  the  man  with  us?  Are  any  of  your 
men  able  to  strike  the  eye  of  a  deer,  the  head  of  a 
grouse,  at  fifty  paces  with  the  rifle?  All  of  my  men 
can  do  that. 

"I  give  you  these  presents — these  lace  coats  for 
your  great  men,  these  hats  also,  such  as  we  wear,  be 
cause  you  are  our  brothers,  and  are  chiefs.  A  little 
powder,  a  few  balls,  I  give  you,  because  we  think  you 
want  them.  I  give  you  a  little  tobacco  for  your  pipes. 
If  my  words  sound  good  in  your  ears,  I  will  send  a 
talking  paper  to  the  Great  Father,  and  tell  him  that 
you  are  his  children." 

Deep-throated  exclamations  of  approval  met  this 
speech.  Weucha  took  the  pipe.  He  arose  himself,  a 
tall  and  powerful  man,  splendidly  clad  in  savage 
fashion,  and  spoke  as  the  born  leader  that  he  also  was. 
He  pledged  the  loyalty  of  the  Sioux  and  the  freedom 
of  the  river. 

"I  give  you  the  horse  you  rode  this  morning,"  said 
Weucha  to  Lewis,  "the  black  runner.  To  you,  red- 
haired  chief,  I  give  the  white-and-black  horse  that  you 
rode.  It  is  well  that  chiefs  like  you  should  have  good 
horses. 

"Tomorrow  our  people  will  go  a  little  way  with  you 
180 


UNDER    ONE    FLAG 

up  the  river.  We  want  you  for  our  friends,  for  we 
know  your  medicine  is  strong.  We  know  that  when 
we  show  this  flag  to  other  tribes — to  the  Otoes,  the 
Omahas,  the  Osages — they  will  fall  on  the  ground  and 
knock  their  heads  on  the  ground,  as  the  black  man  did 
when  the  red-headed  chief  raised  it  above  him. 

"The  Great  Father  has  sent  us  two  chiefs  who  are 
young  but  very  wise.  They  can  strike  the  buffalo. 
They  can  speak  at  the  council.  Weucha,  the  Yank- 
tonnais,  says  that  they  may  go  on.  We  know  you  will 
not  lose  the  trail.  We  know  that  you  will  come  back. 
You  are  chiefs !" 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  LETTER 

LATE  in  the  night  the  Yanktonnais  drums  still 
sounded,  long  after  a  dozen  Sioux  had  spoken, 
and  after  the  two  white  chieftains  had  arisen 
and  left  the  council  fire.     The  people  of  the  village 
were  feasting  around  half  a  hundred  fires.    The  village 
was  joyous,  light-hearted,  and  free  of  care.    The  hunt 
had  been  successful. 

"Look  at  them,  Will,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis,  as 
they  paused  at  the  edge  of  the  bluff  and  turned  back 
for  a  last  glimpse  at  the  savage  scene.  "They  are  like 
children.  I  swear,  I  almost  believe  their  lot  in  life 
is  happier  than  our  own !" 

"Tut,  tut,  Merne — moralizing  again?"  laughed  Wil 
liam  Clark,  the  light-hearted.  "Come  now,  help  me 
get  my  eelskin  about  my  hair.  We  may  need  this  red 
mane  of  mine  further  up  the  river.  I  trust  to  take  it 
back  home  with  me,  after  all,  now  that  we  seem  safe 
to  pass  these  Sioux  without  a  fight  I  am  happy 
enough  that  our  business  today  has  come  out  so  well. 
I  am  a  bit  tired,  and  an  old  bull  gave  me  a  smash  with 
his  horn  this  morning ;  so  I  am  ready  to  turn  into  my 
blankets.  Are  all  the  men  on  the  roll  tonight?" 

182 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    LETTER 

"Sergeant  Ordway  reports  Shannon  still  absent.  It 
seems  he  went  out  on  the  hunt  this  morning,  and  has 
not  yet  come  back.  I'll  wait  up  a  time,  I  think,  Will, 
to  see  if  he  comes  in.  It  is  rather  a  wild  business  for 
a  boy  to  lie  out  all  night  in  such  a  country,  with  only 
the  wolves  for  company.  Go  you  to  your  blankets, 
as  you  say.  For  me,  I  might  be  a  better  sleeper  than 
I  am." 

"Yes,  that  is  true,"  rejoined  Will  Clark,  rubbing  his 
bruised  leg.  "It  is  beginning  to  show  on  you,  too, 
Merne.  Isn't  it  enough  to  be  astronomer  and  doctor 
and  bookkeeper  and  record-keeper  and  all  that?  No, 
you  think  not — you  must  sit  up  all  night  by  your  little 
fire  under  the  stars  and  think  and  think.  Oh,  I  have 
seen  you,  Merne !  I  have  seen  you  sitting  there  when 
you  should  have  been  sleeping.  Do  you  call  that  lead 
ership,  Captain  Lewis?  The  men  are  under  you,  and 
if  the  leader  is  not  fit,  the  men  are  not.  Now,  a  human 
body  will  stand  only  so  much — or  a  human  mind, 
either,  Merne.  There  is  a  limit  to  effort  and  endur 
ance." 

His  friend  turned  to  him  seriously. 

"You  are  right,  Will,"  said  he.  "I  owe  duty  to 
many  besides  myself." 

"You  take  things  too  hard,  Merne.  You  cannot 
carry  the  whole  world  on  your  shoulders.  Look  now, 
I  have  not  been  so  blind  as  not  to  see  that  something 
is  going  wrong  with  you.  Merne,  you  are  ill,  or  will 
be.  Something  is  wrong!" 

His  companion  made  no  reply.  They  marched  on 
to  their  own  part  of  the  encampment,  and  seated  them- 
13  183 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

selves  at  the  little  fire  which  had  been  left  burning  for 
them.1 

William  Clark  went  on  with  his  reproving. 


1  The  original  journals  of  these  two  astonishing  young 
men — one  of  them  just  thirty  years  old,  the  other  thirty-four 
— should  rank  among  the  epic  literature  of  the  world.  Bat 
tered  about,  scattered,  separated,  lost,  hawked  from  hand  to 
hand,  handed  down  as  unvalued  heritages,  "edited"  first  by 
this  and  then  by  that  little  man,  sometimes  to  the  extent  of 
actual  mutilation  or  alteration  of  their  text — the  journals  of 
Meriwether  Lewis  and  William  Clark  hold  their  ineffacable 
clarity  in  spite  of  all.  Their  most  curious  quality  is  the 
strange  blending  of  two  large  souls  which  they  show.  It 
was  only  by  studying  closely  the  individual  differences  of 
handwriting,  style,  and  spelling,  that  it  could  be  determined 
what  was  the  work  oi  Lewis,  which  that  done  by  Clark. 

And  what  a  labor!  After  long  days  of  toil  and  danger, 
under  unvarying  hardships,  in  conditions  of  extremest  dis 
comfort  and  inconvenience  for  such  work,  the  two  young 
leaders  set  down  with  unflagging  faithfulness  countless  thou 
sands  oi  details,  all  in  such  fashion  as  showed  the  keenest 
and  most  exact  powers  of  observation.  Botanists,  naturalists, 
geographers,  map-makers,  builders,  engineers,  hunters,  jour 
nalists,  they  brought  back  in  their  notebooks  a  mass  of  in 
formation  never  equaled  by  the  records  of  any  other  party 
of  explorers. 

We  cannot  overestimate  the  sum  of  labor  which  all  this 
meant,  day  after  day,  month  after  month;  nor  should  we 
underestimate  the  qualities  of  mind  and  education  demanded 
oi  them,  nor  the  varied  experience  of  life  in  primitive  sur 
roundings  which  needed  to  be  part  of  their  requisite  equip 
ment.  It  was  indeed  as  if  the  two  friends  were  fitted  by  the 
plan  of  Providence  for  this  great  enterprise  which  they  con 
cluded  in  such  simple,  unpretending,  yet  minutely  thorough 
fashion.  Neither  thought  himself  a  hero,  therefore  each  was 
one.  The  largest  glory  to  be  accorded  them  is  that  they 
found  their  ambition  and  their  content  in  the  day's  work 
well  done. 

184 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    LETTER 

"Tell  me,  Merne,  what  are  you  thinking  of?  It  is 
not  that  woman?" 

He  seemed  to  feel  the  sudden  shrinking  of  the  tall 
figure  at  his  side. 

"I  have  touched  you  on  the  raw  once  more,  haven't 
I,  Merne  ?"  he  exclaimed.  "I  never  meant  to.  I  only 
want  to  see  you  happy." 

"You  must  not  be  too  uneasy,  Will,"  returned  Meri- 
wether  Lewis,  at  last.  "It  is  only  that  sometimes  at 
night  I  lie  awake  and  ponder  over  things.  And  the 
nights  themselves  are  wonderful!" 

"Saw  you  ever  such  nights,  Merne,  in  all  your  life? 
Breathed  you  ever  such  air  as  these  plains  carry  in  the 
nighttime?  Why  do  you  not  exult — what  is  it  you 
cannot  forget?  You  don't  really  deceive  me,  Merne. 
What  is  it  that  you  see  when  you  lie  awake  at  night 
under  the  stars  ?  Some  face,  eh  ?  What,  Merne  ?  You 
mean  to  tell  me  you  are  still  so  foolish  ?  We  left  three 
months  ago.  I  gave  you  two  months  for  forgetting 
her — and  that  is  enough!  Come,  now,  perhaps  some 
maid  of  the  Mandans,  on  ahead,  will  prove  fair  enough 
to  pipe  to  you,  or  to  touch  the  bull-hide  tambourine  in 
such  fashion  as  to  charm  you  from  your  sorrows !  No, 
don't  be  offended — it  is  only  that  I  want  to  tell  you  not 
to  take  that  old  affair  too  hard.  And  now,  it  is  time 
for  you  to  turn  in." 

William  Clark  himself  arose  and  strolled  to  his  own 
blanket-roll,  spread  it  out,  and  lay  down  beneath  the 
sky  to  sleep.  Meriwether  Lewis  sought  to  follow  his 
example,  and  spread  open  his  robe  and  blankets  close 
to  the  fire.  As  he  leaned  back,  he  felt  something  hard 

185 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

and    crackling   under   his    hand,    and    looked   down. 

It  was  his  custom  to  carry  in  his  blankets,  for  safe 
keeping,  his  long  spyglass,  a  pair  of  dry  moccasins  and 
a  buckskin  tunic.  These  articles  were  here,  as  he  ex 
pected  to  find  them.  Yet  here  among  them  was  a 
folded  and  sealed  envelope — a  letter!  He  had  not 
placed  it  here ;  yet  here  it  was. 

He  caught  it  up  in  his  hand,  looked  at  it  wonder- 
ingly,  kicked  the  ends  of  the  embers  together  so  that 
they  flamed  up,  bent  forward  to  read  the  superscrip 
tion — and  paused  in  amazement.  Well  enough  he 
knew  the  firm,  upright,  characterful  hand  which  ad 
dressed  this  missive  to  him : 

TO    CAPTAIN     MERIWETHER    LEWIS. ON    THE    TRAIL    IN 

THE  WEST. 

A  feeling  somewhat  akin  to  awe  fell  upon  Meri- 
wether  Lewis.  He  felt  a  cold  prickling  along  his  spine. 
It  was  for  him,  yes — but  whence  had  it  come  ?  There 
had  been  no  messenger  from  outside  the  camp.  For 
one  brief  instant  it  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  this  bit  of 
paper — which  of  all  possible  gifts  of  the  gods  he  would 
most  have  coveted — had  dropped  from  the  heavens 
themselves  at  his  feet  here  in  the  savage  wilderness. 
His  heart  had  been  on  the  point  of  breaking,  it  seemed 
to  him — and  it  had  come  to  comfort  him !  It  was  from 
her.  It  ran  thus : 

DEAR  SIR  AND  FRIEND: 

Greetings  to  you,  wherever  you  may  be  when  this  shall 
find  you.  Are  you  among  the  Gauls,  the  Goths,  the  Visigoths, 
the  Huns,  the  Vandals,  or  the  Cimbri?  Wherever  you  be, 

1 86 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    LETTER 

our  hopes  and  'faith  go  with  you.  You  are,  as  I  fancy,  in  a 
desert,  a  wilderness,  worth  no  man's  owning.  Life  passes 
meantime.  To  what  end,  my  friend? 

I  fancy  you  in  the  deluge,  in  the  hurricane,  in  the  blaze 
of  the  sun,  or  in  the  bleak  winds,  alone,  cheerless,  perhaps 
athirst,  perhaps  knowing  hunger.  I  know  that  you  will  meet 
these  things  like  a  man.  But  to  what  end — what  is  the  pur 
pose  of  all  this?  You  have  left  behind  you  all  that  makes 
life  worth  while — fortune,  fame,  li'fe,  ambition,  honor — to 
go  away  into  the  desert.  At  what  time  are  you  going  to  turn 
back  and  come  to  us  once  more  ? 

Oh,  if  only  I  had  the  right — if  only  I  dared — if  only  I 
were  in  a  position  to  lay  some  command  on  you  to  bring  you 
back !  Methinks  then  I  would.  You  could  do  so  much  for 
us  all — so  much  for  me.  It  would  mean  so  much  to  my  own 
happiness  if  you  were  here. 

Meriwether  Lewis,  come  back !  You  have  gone  far  enough. 
On  ahead  are  only  cruel  hardship  and  continual  failure.  Here 
are  fortune,  fame,  wealth,  ambition,  honor — and  more.  I 
told  you  one  time  I  would  lay  my  hand  upon  your  shoulder 
out  yonder,  no  matter  where  you  were.  I  said  that  you 
should  look  into  my  face  yonder  when  you  sat  alone  beside 
your  fire  under  the  stars.  You  said  that  it  would  be  torment. 
I  said  that  none  the  less  I  would  not  let  you  go.  I  said  my 
face  still  should  stay  with  you,  until  you  were  willing  to  turn 
back. 

Turn  back  now,  Meriwether  Lewis !    Come  back ! 

The  letter  was  not  signed,  and  needed  not  to  be. 
Meriwether  Lewis  sat  staring  at  the  paper  clutched  in 
his  hand. 

Her  face !  Ah,  did  he  not  see  it  now  ?  Was  it  not 
true  what  she  had  said?  He  saw  her  face  now — but 
not  smiling,  happy,  contented,  as  it  once  had  been.  No, 
he  saw  it  pale  and  in  distress.  He  saw  tears  in  her  eyes. 
And  she  had  written  him: 

Oh,  if  only  I  had  the  right  to  lay  some  command  on  you ! 

187 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Was  not  he,  who  had  forgotten  honor,  subject  now 
to  any  command  that  she  might  give  him  ? 

"Will,  Will !"  exclaimed  Meriwether  Lewis,  sharply, 
imperatively,  to  his  friend,  whom  he  could  see  dimly 
at  a  little  distance  as  he  lay. 

The  long  figure  in  its  robes  straightened  quickly, 
for  by  day  or  night  William  Clark  was  instantly  ready 
for  any  sudden  alarm.  He  started  up  on  his  robe, 
with  his  hand  on  his  rifle. 

"Who  calls  there?  Who  goes?"  he  cried,  half 
awake. 

"It  is  I,  Will/'  said  Meriweather  Lewis,  advancing 
toward  him.  "Listen — tell  me,  Will,  why  did  you  do 
this?" 

"Why  did  I  do  what?    Merne,  what  is  wrong?" 

Clark  was  now  on  his  feet,  and  Lewis  held  out  the 
letter  to  him.  He  took  it  in  his  hand,  looked  at  it  won- 
deringly. 

"This  letter—"  began  Meriwether  Lewis.  "Cer 
tainly  you  carried  it  for  me — why  did  you  not  bring 
it  to  me  long  ago  ?" 

"What  letter?  Whose  letter  is  it,  Merne?  I  never 
saw  it  before.  What  is  it  you  are  saying?  Are  you 
mad?" 

"I  think  so,"  said  Lewis,  "I  think  I  must  be.  Here 
is  a  letter — I  found  it  but  now  in  my  bed.  I  thought 
perhaps  you  had  had  it  for  me  a  long  time,  and  placed 
it  there  as  a  surprise." 

"Who  sends  it,  Merne    What  does  it  say?" 

"It  is  from  the  woman  whose  face  I  have  seen  at 
night,  Will.  She  asks  me  to  come  back !" 

188 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    LETTER 

"Burn  it— throw  it  in  the  fire!"  said  William  Clark 
sharply.  "Go  back?  What,  forsake  Mr.  Jefferson — 
leave  me?" 

"God  forgive  me,  Will,  but  you  search  my  very 
heart !  For  one  moment  I  was  on  the  point  of  declar 
ing  myself  too  ill  to  finish  this  journey — on  the  point 
of  letting  you  have  all  the  honor  of  it  I  was  going  to 
surrender  my  place  to  you." 

"You  cannot  desert  us,  Merne !  You  shall  not !  Go 
back  to  bed !  Give  me  the  letter !  Bah !  it  is  some  coun 
terfeit,  some  trick  of  one  of  the  men!" 

"It  would  be  worth  any  man's  life  to  try  a  jest  like 
that,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis.  "It  is  no  counterfeit 
I  know  it  too  well.  This  letter  was  written  before  we 
left  St.  Louis.  How  it  came  here  I  know  not,  but  I 
know  who  wrote  it." 

"She  had  no  right " 

"Ah,  but  that  is  the  cruelty  of  it — she  did  have  the 
right!" 

"There  are  some  things  which  a  man  must  work  out 
for  himself,"  said  William  Clark  slowly,  after  a  time. 
"I  don't  think  I'll  ask  any  questions.  If  there  is  any 
place  where  I  can  take  half  your  burden,  you  know 
what  I  will  do.  We've  worked  share  and  share  alike, 
but  perhaps  some  things  cannot  be  shared,  even  by 
you  and  me.  It  is  for  you  to  tell  me  if  I  can  help 
you  now.  If  not,  then  you  must  decide." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  his  beloved  friend  was  turning 
away  from  him.  Meriwether  Lewis  walked  out  alone 
into  the  night.  Stumbling,  he  passed  on  out  among 
the  shadows,  under  the  starlight.  Without  much  plan, 

189 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

he  found  himself  on  a  little  eminence  of  the  bluff  near 
by. 

He  sat  down,  his  blanket  drawn  over  his  head,  like 
an  Indian,  motionless,  thinking,  fighting  out  his  own 
fight,  as  sometimes  a  man  must,  alone.  He  did  not 
know  that  William  Clark,  most  faithful  of  friends, 
himself  silent  as  a  Sioux,  had  followed,  and  sat  a  little 
distance  apart,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  motionless  figure 
outlined  against  the  sky. 

The  dawn  came  at  last  and  kindled  a  red  band  along 
the  east.  The  gray  light  at  length  grew  more  clear. 
A  coyote  on  the  bluff  raised  a  long  and  quavering  cry, 
like  some  soul  in  torture.  As  if  it  were  his  own  voice, 
Meriwether  Lewis  stirred,  rose,  drew  back  the  blanket 
from  his  shoulders,  and  turned  down  the  hill. 

He  saw  his  friend  rising  and  advancing  to  him. 
Once  more  their  hands  gripped,  as  they  had  when  the 
two  first  met  on  the  Ohio,  almost  a  year  ago,  at  the 
beginning  of  their  journey. 

Lewis  frowned  heavily.  He  could  not  speak  for  a 
time. 

"Give  the  orders  to  the  men  to  roll  out,  Captain 
Clark/'  said  he  at  length. 

"Which  way,  Captain  Lewis — up-stream  or  down?" 

"The  expedition  will  go  forward,  Captain  Clark." 

"God  bless  you,  Merne !"  said  the  red-headed  one. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  DAY'S  WORK 

ROLL  out,  men,  roll  out!" 
The     sleeping    men    stirred     under    their 
robes  and   blankets  and   turned  out,    quickly 
awake,  after  the  fashion  of  the  wilderness.       The 
sentinel  came  in,  his  moccasins  wet,  his  tunic  girded 
tight  against  the  cool  of  the  morning,  which  even  at 
that  season  was  chill  upon  the  high  plains.     Soon  the 
fires  were  alight  and  the  odors  of  roasting  meat  arose. 
The  hour  was  scarce  yet  dawn. 

"Ordway!  Gass!  Pryor!"  Lewis  called  in  the 
sergeants  in  charge  of  the  three  messes.  "The  boy 
Shannon  has  not  returned.  Which  of  your  men,  Ord 
way,  will  best  serve  to  find  Shannon  and  meet  us  up 
the  river?" 

"Myself,  sir,"  said  Ordway,  "if  you  please." 

"No,  'tis  meself,  sor,"  interrupted  Patrick  Gass. 

Pryor,  with  hand  outstretched,  also  claimed  the 
honor  of  the  difficult  undertaking. 

"You  three  are  needed  in  the  boats,"  said  the  leader. 
"No,  I  think  it  will  be  better  to  send  Drouillard  and 
the  two  Fields  boys.  But  tell  me,  Sergeant  Ord 
way " 

191 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"Has  any  boat  passed  up  the  river  within  the  last 
day — for  instance,  while  we  were  away  at  the  hunt?" 

"I  think  not,  sir.  Surely  any  one  coming  up  the 
river  would  have  turned  in  at  our  camp." 

Lewis  turned  to  Gass,  to  Pryor;  but  both  agreed 
that  no  boat  could  have  gone  by  unnoticed. 

"And  no  man  has  come  into  the  camp  from  below — 
no  horseman?" 

They  all  shook  their  heads.  Their  leader  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  keenly,  trying  to  see  if  anything 
was  concealed  from  him;  but  the  honest  faces  of  his 
men  showed  no  suspicion  of  his  own  doubts. 

He  dismissed  them,  feeling  it  beneath  his  dignity 
to  make  inquiry  as  to  the  bearer  of  the  mysterious  let 
ter;  nor  did  he  mention  it  again  to  William  Clark.  He 
knew  only  that  some  one  of  his  men  had  a  secret  from 
his  commander. 

"The  men  will  find  Shannon  and  bring  him  in 
ahead — we  can't  afford  to  wait  here  for  them.  The 
water  is  falling  now,"  said  Clark.  "We  are  doing  our 
twenty  miles  daily.  The  men  laugh  on  the  line,  for 
the  bars  are  exposed,  and  they  can  track  along  shore 
easily.  Suppose  Shannon  were  out  three  days — that 
would  make  it  sixty  miles  upstream — or  less,  for  him, 
for  he  could  cut  the  bends.  I  make  no  doubt  that 
when  he  found  himself  out  for  the  night  he  started  up 
the  river;  even  before  this  time.  En  avant,  Cruzatte!" 
he  called.  "You  shall  lead  the  line  for  the  first  draw. 
Make  it  lively  for  an  hour!.  Sing  some  song,  Cru 
zatte,  if  you  can — some  song  of  old  Kaskaskia." 

192 


THE    DAY'S    WORK 

"Sure,  the  Frenchmans,  she'll  lead  on  the  line  this 
morning,  Capitaine!  I'll  put  nine,  seven  Frenchmans 
on  the  line,  and  she'll  run  on  the  bank  on  her  bare  feet 
two  hour — one  hour.  This  buffalo  meat,  she  make 
Frenchmans  strong  like  nothing!" 

"Go  on,  Frenchy!"  said  Patrick  Gass,  Cruzatte's 
sergeant,  who  stood  near  by.  "Wait  until  time  comes 
for  my  squad  on  the  line — 'tis  thin  we'll  make  the 
elkhide  hum!  There's  a  few  of  the  Irish  along." 

"Ho!"  said  Ordway,  usually  silent.  "Wait  rather 
for  us  Yankees — we'll  show  you  what  old  Vermont 
can  do!" 

"As  to  that,"  said  Pryor,  "belike  the  Ohio  and  Ken 
tucky  men  could  serve  a  turn  as  well  as  the  Irish  or 
the  French.  Old  Kaintuck  has  to  help  out  the  others, 
the  way  she  did  in  the  French  and  Indian  War!" 

"Well,"  broke  in  Peter  Weiser,  joining  them  as  they 
argued,  "I  am  from  Pennsylvania ;  but  I  am  half  Vir 
ginian,  and  there  are  some  others  from  the  Old 
Dominion.  When  you  are  all  done,  call  on  us — ole 
Virginny  never  tires !" 

The  contagion  of  their  light-heartedness,  their 
loyalty  and  devotion,  came  as  solace  to  the  heart  of 
Meri wether  Lewis.  He  smiled  in  spite  of  himself,  his 
eye  kindling  with  confidence  and  admiration  as  he 
looked  over  his  men. 

They  were  stripping  for  their  day's  work,  ready  for 
mud  or  water  or  sun,  as  the  case  might  be.  Amidships, 
on  the  highest  locker  on  the  barge,  one  of  the  Ken- 
tuckians  was  flapping  his  arms  lustily  and  giving  the 
cockcrow,  the  river  challenge  of  frontier  days.  Others 

193 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

seated  themselves  at  the  long  sweeps  of  the  barge, 
while  yet  others  were  manning  the  pirogues. 

A  few  moments  later,  with  joyous  shouts,  they  were 
on  their  way  once  more — and  not  setting  their  faces 
toward  home.  In  an  hour  they  were  above  the  first 
long  bend.  The  wilderness  had  closed  behind  them. 
No  trace  of  the  Indian  village  was  left,  no  sight  of  the 
lingering  smoke  of  their  last  camp  fires. 

Faithfully,  patiently,  day  by  day,  they  held  their 
way,  sustained  by  the  renewed  fascination  of  adven 
ture,  hardened  and  inured  to  risk  and  toil  alike.  The 
distance  behind  them  lengthened  so  enormously  that 
they  began  to  figure  upon  the  unknown  rather  than 
the  known. 

"We  surely  must  be  almost  across  now !"  said  some 
of  the  men. 

All  of  them  were  sore  distressed  over  the  loss  of 
Shannon.  Two  weeks  had  passed  since  they  left  the 
Yankton  Sioux,  and  four  times  the  faithful  trailers 
had  come  back  to  the  boats  with  no  trace  of  the  miss 
ing  one. 

"It  certainly  is  in  the  off  chance  now/'  assented  Wil 
liam  Clark  seriously,  one  day  as  they  lay  in  the  noon 
encampment.  "But  perhaps  he  may  be  among  the 
natives  somewhere,  and  we  may  hear  of  him  when  we 
come  back — if  ever  we  do." 

"If  he  got  by  the  Teton  Sioux,  and  kept  on  up  the 
river,  in  time  he  would  find  us  somewhere  among  the 
Mandans,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis.  "But  we  will  try 
once  more  before  we  give  him  up.  Send  a  man  to  the 
top  of  the  bluff  with  my  spyglass." 

194 


THE    DAY'S    WORK 

Busy  in  their  labors  over  their  maps,  and  in  the 
recording  of  their  compass  bearings,  for  half  an  hour 
they  forgot  their  messenger,  until  a  shout  called  their 
attention.  He  was  waving  his  hands,  wildly  beckon 
ing.  Yonder,  alone  in  the  plains,  bewildered,  hopeless, 
wandering,  was  the  lost  man,  who  did  not  even  know 
that  the  river  was  close  at  hand!  Shannon's  escape 
from  a  miserable  fate  was  but  one  more  instance  of 
the  almost  miraculous  good  fortune  which  seemed  to 
attend  the  expedition. 

"And  she  was  lucky  man,  too!"  said  Drouillard,  a 
half -hour  later,  nodding  toward  the  opposite  shore. 
"Suppose  he  is  on  that  side,  she'll  not  go  in  today !" 

"Two  weeks  on  his  foot!" 

They  looked  where  he  pointed.  Red  men,  mounted, 
were  visible,  a  dozen  of  them,  motionless,  on  the  rim 
of  the  farther  bank,  watching  the  explorers  as  they 
began  to  make  ready  for  their  journey.  Lewis  turned 
his  great  field  glass  in  that  direction. 

"Sioux !"  said  he.  "They  are  painted,  too.  I  fancy," 
he  added,  as  he  turned  toward  his  associates,  "that  this 
must  be  Black  Buffalo's  band  of  Tetons  you've  told  us 
about,  Drouillard." 

"Oui,  oui,  the  Teton!"  exclaimed  Drouillard.  'Til 
not  spoke  his  language,  me;  but  she'll  be  bad  Sioux. 
Prenez  garde,  Capitaine,  prenes  garde  pour  ces  sau- 
vages,  les  Sioux  I" 

And  indeed  this  warning  proved  well  founded. 
More  Indians  gathered  in  toward  the  shore  that  after 
noon,  riding  along,  parallel  with  the  course  of  the 
boats,  whooping,  shouting  to  the  boatmen.  At  night- 

195 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

fall  there  were  a  hundred  of  them  assembled — painted 
warriors,  decked  in  all  their  savage  finery,  bold  men, 
showing  no  fear  of  the  newcomers. 

The  white  men  went  about  their  camp  duties  in  a 
mingling  of  figures,  white  and  red.  Lewis  lined  up 
his  men,  beat  his  drums,  fired  the  great  swivel  piece  to 
impress  the  savages. 

''Bring  out  the  flag,  Will,"  said  he.  "Put  up  our 
council  awning.  I'll  have  a  parley  \vith  their  head 
man.  Can  you  make  him  out,  Drouillard  ?" 

"He'll  said  he  was  Black  Buffalo,"  replied  the 
Frenchman.  "I  don't  understand  him  very  good." 

"Take  him  these  things,  Drouillard,"  said  Lewis. 
"Give  him  a  lace  coat  and  hat,  a  red  feather,  some 
tobacco,  and  this  medal.  Tell  him  that  when  wre  get 
ready  we'll  make  a  talk  with  him." 

But  Black  Buffalo  and  his  men  were  not  in  the  mood 
to  wait  for  their  parley.  They  crowded  down  to  the 
bank  angrily,  excitedly,  even  after  they  had  received 
the  presents  sent  them.  Lewis,  busy  about  the  barge, 
which  had  not  yet  found  a  good  landing-place,  turned 
at  the  sound  of  his  friend's  voice,  to  see  Clark  strug 
gling  in  the  grasp  of  two  or  three  of  the  Sioux,  among 
them  the  Teton  chief.  A  savage  had  his  hand  flung 
about  the  mast  of  the  pirogue,  others  laid  hold  upon 
the  painter.  Clark,  flushed  and  angry  at  the  touch 
of  another  man's  hand,  had  whipped  out  his  sword, 
and  the  Indians  were  drawing  their  bows  from  their 
cases. 

At  that  moment  Lewis  gave  a  loud  order,  which  ar 
rested  them  all.  The  Sioux  turned  toward  the  barge, 

196 


THE    DAY'S    WORK 

to  see  the  black  mouth  of  the  great  swivel  gun  pointing 
at  them — the  gun  whose  thunder  voice  they  had  heard. 

"Big  medicine!"  called  out  Black  Buffalo  in  terror, 
and  ordered  his  men  back. 

Clark  offered  his  hand  to  Black  Buffalo,  but  it  was 
refused.  Angry,  he  sprang  into  the  pirogue  and 
pushed  off  for  the  barge.  Three  of  the  Indians 
stepped  into  the  pirogue  with  him,  jabbering  excitedly, 
and,  with  Clark,  went  aboard  the  barge,  where  they 
made  themselves  very  much  at  home. 

"Croyez  moi!"  ejaculated  Drouillard.  "These  Hin- 
jun,  she'll  think  he  own  this  country !" 

Here,  then,  they  were,  in  the  Teton  country.  No 
sleep  that  night  for  either  of  the  leaders,  nor  for  any 
of  the  men.  They  pulled  the  pirogues  alongside  the 
barge  and  sat,  barricaded  behind  their  goods,  rifle  in 
hand. 

They  kept  their  visitors  prisoners  all  that  night,  and 
whatever  might  have  been  the  construction  the  Tetons 
placed  on  their  act,  they  themselves  by  dawn  were  far 
more  placable.  Continually  they  motioned  that  the 
whites  should  come  ashore,  that  they  must  stop,  that 
they  must  not  go  on  further  up  the  river.  But  when 
all  was  prepared  for  the  start  on  the  following  morn 
ing,  Lewis  ordered  the  great  cable  of  the  barge  cast  off. 

Black  Buffalo  in  turn  ordered  his  men  to  lay  hold 
upon  it  and  retain  the  boat.  Once  more  the  Indians 
began  to  draw  their  bows.  Once  more  Lewis  turned 
upon  them  the  muzzle  of  his  cannon.  His  men  shook 
the  priming  into  their  pieces,  and  made  ready  to  fire. 
An  instant,  and  much  blood  might  have  been  shed. 

197 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"Black  Buffalo/'  said  Lewis,  as  best  he  might 
through  his  interpreter,  "I  heard  you  were  a  chief. 
You  are  not  Black  Buffalo,  but  some  squaw !  We  are 
going  to  see  if  we  can  find  Black  Buffalo,  the  real  chief. 
If  he  were  here,  he  would  accept  our  tobacco.  The 
geese  are  flying  down  the  river.  Soon  the  snow  will 
come.  We  cannot  wait.  See,  I  give  you  this  tobacco 
on  the  prairie.  Go  and  see  if  you  can  find  Black 
Buffalo,  the  real  chief!" 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  the  Teton  leader,  his  dignity  out 
raged.  "You  say  I  am  not  Black  Buffalo — that  I  am 
not  a  chief.  I  will  show  you!" 

He  caught  the  twists  of  good  black  Virginia  tobacco 
tossed  to  him,  and  cast  the  rope  far  from  him  upon 
the  tawny  flood  of  the  Missouri.  An  instant  later  the 
oars  had  caught  the  water  and  Cruzatte  had  spread  the 
bowsail  of  the  barge.  So  they  won  through  one  more 
of  the  most  dangerous  of  the  tribes  against  whom  they 
had  been  warned. 

"A  near  thing,  Merne!"  said  Will  Clark  after  a 
time.  "There  is  some  mighty  Hand  that  seems  to 
guide  us — is  it  not  the  truth  ?" 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  CROSSROADS  OF  THE  WEST 

THE  geese  were  now  indeed  flying  down  the  river, 
coming  in  long,  dark  lines  out  of  the  icy  north. 
Sometimes  the  sky  was  overcast  hours  at  a 
stretch.  A  new  note  came  into  the  voice  of  the  wind. 
The  nights  grew  colder. 

Autumn  was  at  hand.  Soon  it  would  be  winter — 
winter  on  the  plains.  It  was  late  in  October,  more 
than  five  months  out  from  St.  Louis,  when  Mr.  Jeffer 
son's  "Volunteers  for  the  Discovery  of  the  West" 
arrived  in  the  Mandan  country. 

Long  ago  war  and  disease  wiped  out  the  gentle 
Mandan  people.  Today  two  cities  stand  where  their 
green  fields  once  showed  the  first  broken  soil  north  of 
the  Platte  River.  But  a  century  ago  that  region,  al 
though  little  known  to  our  government  at  Washington, 
was  not  unknown  to  others.  The  Mandan  villages 
lay  at  a  great  wilderness  crossroads,  or  rather  at  the 
apex  of  a  triangle,  beyond  which  none  had  gone. 

Hereabout  the  Sieur  de  la  Verendrye  had  crossed  on 
his  own  journey  of  exploration  two  generations  earlier. 
More  lately  the  emissaries  of  the  great  British  com 
panies,  although  privately  warring  with  one  another, 
14  199 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

had  pushed  west  over  the  Assiniboine.  Traders  had 
been  among  the  Mandans  now  for  a  decade.  Thus 
far  came  the  Western  trail  from  Canada,  and  halted. 

The  path  of  the  Missouri  also  led  thus  far,  but  here, 
at  the  intersection,  ended  all  the  trails  of  trading  or 
traveling  white  men.  Therefore,  Lewis  and  Clark 
found  white  men  located  here  before  them — Mc- 
Cracken,  an  Irishman;  Jussaume,  a  Frenchman; 
Henderson,  an  Englishman;  La  Roque,  another 
Frenchman — all  over  from  the  Assiniboine  country; 
and  all,  it  hardly  need  be  said,  excited  and  anxious  over 
this  wholly  unexpected  arrival  of  white  strangers  in 
their  own  trading-limits. 

Big  White,  chief  of  the  Mandans,  welcomed  the 
new  party  as  friends,  for  he  was  quick  to  grasp  the 
advantage  the  white  men's  goods  gave  his  people  over 
the  neighboring  tribes,  and  also  quick  to  understand 
the  virtue  of  competition. 

"Brothers,"  said  he,  "you  have  come  for  our  beaver 
and  our  robes.  As  for  us,  we  want  powder  and  ball 
and  more  iron  hatchets  and  knives.  We  have  traded 
with  the  Assiniboines,  who  are  foolish  people,  and  have 
taken  all  their  goods  away  from  them.  We  have  killed 
the  Rees  until  we  are  tired  of  killing  them.  The  Sioux 
will  not  trouble  us  if  we  have  plenty  of  powder  and 
ball.  We  know  that  you  have  come  to  trade  with  us. 
See,  the  snow  is  here.  Light  your  lodge  fires  with 
the  Mandans.  Stay  here  until  the  grass  comes  once 
more!" 

"We  open  our  ears  to  what  Big  White  has  said," 
replied  Lewis — speaking  through  Jussaume,  the 

200 


THE    CROSSROADS    OF    THE    WEST 

Frenchman,  who  soon  was  added  as  interpreter  to  the 
party.  "We  are  the  children  of  a  Great  Father  in  the 
East,  who  gives  you  this  medal  with  his  picture  on  it. 
He  sends  you  this  coat,  this  hat  of  a  chief.  He  gives 
you  this  hatchet,  this  case  of  tobacco.  There  are  other 
hatchets  and  more  tobacco  for  your  people." 

"What  Great  Father  is  that?"  demanded  Big  White. 
"It  seems  there  are  many  Great  Fathers  in  these  days ! 
Who  are  you  strangers,  who  come  from  so  far  ?" 

"You  yourself  shall  judge,  Big  White.  When  the 
geese  fly  up  the  river  and  the  grass  is  green,  our  great 
boat  here  is  going  back  down  the  river.  The  Great 
Father  is  curious  to  know  his  children,  the  Mandans. 
If  you,  Big  White,  wish  to  go  to  see  him  when  the 
grass  is  green,  you  shall  sit  yonder  in  that  boat  and  go 
all  the  way  with  some  of  my  men.  You  shall  shake 
his  hand.  When  you  come  back,  you  can  tell  the 
story  to  your  own  people.  Then  all  the  tribes  will 
cease  to  wage  war.  Your  women  once  more  may  take 
off  their  moccasins  at  night  when  they  sleep/' 

"It  is  good/'  said  the  Mandan.  "Ahaie!  Come 
and  stay  with  us  until  the  grass  is  green,  and  I  will 
make  medicine  over  what  you  say.  We  will  open  our 
lodges  to  you,  and  will  not  harm  you.  Our  young 
women  will  carry  you  corn  which  they  have  saved  for 
the  winter.  Our  squaws  will  feed  your  horses.  Go 
no  farther,  for  the  snow  and  ice  are  coming  fast. 
Even  the  buffalo  will  be  thin,  and  the  elk  will  grow  so 
lean  that  they  will  not  be  good  to  eat.  This  is  as  far 
as  the  white  men  ever  come  when  the  grass  is  green. 
Beyond  this,  no  man  knows  the  trails." 

20 1 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"When  the  grass  is  green,"  said  Lewis,  "I  shall  lead 
my  young  men  toward  the  setting  sun.  We  shall 
make  new  trails." 

Jussaume,  McCracken,  and  all  the  others  held 
their  own  council  with  the  leaders  of  the  expedition. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  ?"  they  demanded.  "The 
Missouri  has  always  belonged  to  the  British  traders." 

The  face  of  Meriwether  Lewis  flushed  with  anger. 

"We  are  about  the  business  of  our  government,"  he 
said.  "It  is  our  purpose  to  discover  the  West  beyond 
here,  all  of  it.  It  is  our  own  country  that  we  are  dis 
covering.  We  have  bought  it  and  paid  for  it,  and 
will  hold  it.  We  carry  the  news  of  the  great  purchase 
to  the  natives." 

"Purchase?  What  purchase?"  demanded  Mc 
Cracken. 

And  then  the  face  of  Lewis  lightened,  for  he  knew 
that  they  had  outrun  all  the  news  of  the  world ! 

"The  Louisiana  Purchase — the  purchase  of  all  this 
Western  country  from  the  Mississippi  to  the  Pacific, 
across  the  Stony  Mountains.  We  bought  it  from 
Napoleon,  who  had  it  from  Spain.  We  are  the  wedge 
to  split  the  British  from  the  South — the  Missouri  is 
our  own  pathway  into  our  own  country.  That  is  our 
business  here!" 

"You  must  go  back !"  said  the  hot-headed  Irishman. 
"I  shall  tell  my  factor,  Chaboillez,  at  Fort  Assiniboine. 
We  want  no  more  traders  here.  This  is  our  country !" 

"We  do  not  come  to  trade,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis. 
"We  play  a  larger  game.  I  know  that  the  men  of  the 
Northwest  Company  have  found  the  Arctic  Ocean — 

202 


THE    CROSSROADS    OF    THE    WEST 

you  are  welcome  to  it  until  we  want  it — we  do  not 
want  it  now.  I  know  you  have  found  the  Pacific 
somewhere  above  the  Columbia — we  do  not  want  what 
we  have  not  bought  or  found  for  ourselves,  and  you 
are  welcome  to  that.  But  when  you  ask  us  to  turn 
back  on  our  own  trail,  it  is  a  different  matter.  We  are 
on  our  own  soil  now,  and  we  will  not  turn  for  any 
order  in  the  world  but  that  of  the  President  of  the 
United  States !" 

McCracken,  irritated,  turned  away  from  the  talk. 

"It  is  a  fine  fairy  tale  they  tell  us !"  said  he  to  his 
fellows. 

Drouillard  came  a  moment  later  to  his  chief. 

"Those  men  she'll  take  her  dog-team  for  Assiniboine 
now — maybe  so  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  that  way. 
He'll  told  his  factor  now,  on  the  Assiniboine  post." 

Lewis  smiled. 

"Tell  him  to  take  this  letter  to  his  factor,  Drouil 
lard,"  said  he.  "It  is  a  passport  given  me  by  Mr. 
Thompson,  representing  Mr.  Merry,  of  the  British 
Legation  at  Washington.  I  have  fifty  other  passports, 
better  ones,  each  good  at  a  hundred  yards.  If  Mr. 
Chaboillez  wishes  to  find  us,  he  can  do  so.  If  we  have 
gone,  let  him  come  after  us  in  the  spring." 

"My  faith,"  said  Jussaume,  the  Frenchman,  "you 
come  a  long  way !  Why  you  want  to  go  more  farther 
West?  But,  listen,  Monsieur  Capltaine — the  English 
man,  he'll  go  to  make  trouble  for  you.  He  is  going  for 
send  word  to  Rocheblave,  the  most  boss  trader  on  Lake 
Superior,  on  Fort  William.  They  are  going  for  send 
a  man  to  beat  you  over  the  mountain — I  know!" 

203 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"  'Tis  a  long  road  from  here  to  the  middle  of  Lake 
Superior's  north  shore,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis.  "It 
will  be  a  long  way  back  from  there  in  the  spring. 
While  they  are  planning  to  start,  already  we  shall  be 
on  our  way." 

"I  know  the  man  they'll  send/'  went  on  Jussaume. 
"Simon  Eraser — I  know  him.  Long  time  he'll  want 
to  go  up  the  Saskatchewan  and  over  the  mountain  on 
the  ocean." 

"We'll  race  Mr.  Fraser  to  the  ocean/'  said  Meri 
wether  Lewis;  "him  or  any  other  man.  While  he 
plans,  we  shall  be  on  our  way !" 

Well  enough  the  Northern  traders  knew  the  mean 
ing  of  this  American  expedition  into  the  West.  If  it 
went  on,  all  the  lower  trade  was  lost  to  Great  Britain 
forever.  The  British  minister,  Merry,  had  known  it. 
Aaron  Burr  had  known  it.  This  expedition  must  be 
stopped!  That  was  the  word  which  must  go  back  to 
Montreal,  back  to  London,  along  the  trail  which  ended 
here  at  the  crossroads  of  the  Missouri. 

"The  red-headed  young  man  is  not  so  bad,"  said  one 
of  the  white  news-bearers  at  the  Assiniboine  post.  "He 
is  willing  to  parley,  and  he  seems  disposed  to  be  amia 
ble.  But  the  other,  the  one  named  Lewis — I  can  do 
nothing  with  him.  For  some  reason  he  seems  to  be 
hostile  to  the  British  interests.  He  speaks  well,  and 
is  a  man  of  presence  and  education,  but  he  is  bitter 
against  us,  and  I  cannot  handle  him.  We  must  use 
force  to  stop  that  man !" 

"Agreed,  then!"  said  his  master,  laughing  lustily, 
for,  safe  in  his  own  sanctuary,  he  had  not  seen  these 

204 


THE    CROSSROADS    OF    THE    WEST 

men  himself.  "We  shall  use  force,  as  we  have  before. 
We  will  excite  the  savages  against  them  this  winter. 
If  they  will  listen  to  us,  and  turn  back  in  the  spring — 
all  of  them,  not  part  of  them — very  well.  If  they  will 
not  listen  to  reason,  then  we  shall  use  such  means  as 
we  need  to  stop  them." 

Of  this  conversation  the  two  young  American  offi 
cers,  one  of  Virginia,  the  other  of  Kentucky,  knew 
nothing  at  all.  But  they  held  council  of  their  own,  as 
was  their  fashion — a  council  of  two,  sitting  by  their 
camp  fire ;  and  while  others  talked,  they  acted. 

Before  November  was  a  week  old,  the  axes  were 
ringing  among  the  cottonwoods.  The  men  were  car 
rying  big  logs  toward  the  cleared  space  shown  to  them, 
and  while  Meriwether  Lewis  worked  at  his  journal 
and  his  scientific  records,  William  Clark,  born  soldier 
and  born  engineer,  was  going  forward  with  his  little 
fortress. 

Trenches  were  cut,  the  logs  were  ended  up — taller 
pickets  than  any  one  of  that  country  ever  had  seen 
before.  A  double  row  of  cabins  was  built  inside  the 
stockade.  A  great  gate  was  furnished,  proof  against 
assault.  A  bastion  was  erected  in  one  corner,  mount 
ing  the  swivel  piece  so  that  it  might  be  fired  above  the 
top  of  the  wall.  A  little  more  work  of  chinking  the 
walls,  of  flooring  the  cabins,  of  making  chimneys  of 
wattle  and  clay — and  presto,  before  the  winter  had 
well  settled  down,  the  white  explorers  were  housed  and 
fortified  and  ready  for  what  might  come. 

The  Mandans  sat  and  watched  them  in  wonder. 
Jussaume,  the  French  trader,  shook  his  head.  In  all 

205 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

his  experience  on  the  trail  he  had  seen  nothing-  savoring 
quite  so  much  of  preparedness  and  celerity. 

Among-  all  the  posts  to  the  northward  and  eastward 
the  word  went  out,  carried  by  dog  runners. 

"They  have  built  a  great  house  of  tall  logs,"  said 
the  Indians.  "They  have  put  the  thing  that  thunders 
on  top  of  the  wall.  They  never  sleep.  Each  day  they 
exercise  with  their  rifles  under  their  arms.  They  have 
long  knives  on  their  belts.  They  carry  hatchets  that 
are  sharp  enough  to  shave  bark.  Their  medicine  is 
strong! 

"They  write  down  the  words  of  the  Mandans  and 
the  Minnetarees  in  their  books.  They  are  taking  skins 
of  the  antelope  and  the  bighorn  and  the  deer,  even 
skins  of  the  prairie-grouse  and  the  badger  and  the 
prairie-dog — everything  they  can  get.  They  dry 
these,  to  make  some  sort  of  medicine  of  them.  They 
cut  off  pieces  of  wood  and  bark.  They  put  the  dirt 
which  burns  in  little  sacks.  They  make  pictures  and 
make  the  talking  papers — all  the  time  they  work  at 
something,  the  two  chiefs.  They  have  a  black  man 
with  them  who  cannot  be  washed  white — they  have 
stained  him  with  some  medicine  of  their  own.  He 
makes  sounds  like  a  buffalo,  and  he  says  that  the  white 
man  made  him  as  he  is  and  will  do  us  that  way.  We 
would  like  to  kill  them,  but  they  have  made  their  house 
too  strong ! 

"They  never  sleep.  In  the  daytime  and  in  the  night 
time,  no  matter  how  cold  it  is,  one  man,  two  men,  walk 
up  and  down  inside  the  wall.  They  have  carried  their 
boats  up  out  of  the  water — two  boats,  a  great  one  and 

206 


THE    CROSSROADS    OF    THE    WEST 

two  small.  All  through  the  woods  they  are  cutting 
down  the  largest  trees,  and  out  of  the  straight  logs 
they  are  making  more  boats,  more  boats,  as  many  as 
there  are  fingers  on  one  hand.  They  have  axes  that 
cast  much  larger  chips  than  any  we  ever  saw.  We 
fear  these  men,  because  they  do  not  fear  us.  We  do 
not  know  what  to  think.  They  are  men  who  never 
sleep.  Before  the  sun  is  up  we  find  them  writing  or 
making  large  chips  with  their  axes,  or  hunting  in  the 
woods — not  a  day  goes  by  that  their  hunters  do  not 
bring  in  elk  and  deer  and  buffalo.  They  do  not  fear 
us. 

"We  have  seen  no  men  like  these.     They  are  chiefs, 
and  their  medicine  is  strong !" 


CHAPTER   V 

THE  APPEAL 

WELL  done,  Will  Clark!"  said  Meriwether 
Lewis,  when,  at  length,  one  cold  winter 
morning,  they  stood  within  the  walls  of 
the  completed  fortress.  "Now  we  can  have  our  own 
fireplace  and  go  on  with  our  work  in  comfort.  The 
collection  is  growing  splendidly!" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Jefferson  will  find  that  we  have  been 
busy,"  rejoined  Clark.  "The  barge  will  go  down  well 
loaded  in  the  spring.  They'll  have  the  best  of  it — 
downhill,  and  over  country  they  have  crossed." 

"True,"  mused  Lewis.  "We  are  at  a  blank  wall 
here.  We  lack  a  guide  now,  that  is  sure.  Two  in 
terpreters  we  have,  who  may  or  may  not  be  of  use, 
but  no  one  knows  the  country.  But  now — you  know 
our  other  new  interpreter,  the  sullen  chap,  Charbon- 
neau- — that  polygamous  scamp  with  two  or  three  Indian 
wives  ?" 

"Yes,  and  a  surly  brute  he  is !" 

"Well,  it  seems  that  last  summer  Charbonneau  mar 
ried  still  another  wife,  a  girl  not  over  sixteen  years  of 
age,  I  should  judge.  He  bought  her — she  was  a  slave, 
a  captive  brought  down  from  somewhere  up  the  river 

208 


THE    APPEAL 

by  a  war-party.  She  is  a  pleasant  girl,  and  always 
smiles.  She  seems  friendly  to  us — see  the  moccasins 
she  made  for  me  but  now.  And  I  only  had  to  knock 
her  husband  down  once  for  beating  her !" 

"Lucky  man!"  grinned  William  Clark.  "I  have 
knocked  him  down  half  a  dozen  times,  and  she  has 
made  me  no  moccasins  at  all.  But  what  then  ?" 

"So  far  as  I  can  learn,  that  Indian  girl  is  the  only 
human  being  here  who  has  ever  seen  the  Stony  Moun 
tains.  The  girl  says  that  she  was  taken  captive  years 
ago  somewhere  near  the  summit  of  the  Stony  Moun 
tains.  Above  here  a  great  river  comes  in,  which  they 
call  the  Yellow  Rock  River — the  'Ro'jaune/  Jussaume 
calls  it.  Very  well.  Many  days'  or  weeks'  journey 
toward  the  west,  this  river  comes  again  within  a  half- 
day's  march  of  the  Missouri.  That  is  near  the  sum 
mit  of  the  mountains ;  and  this  girl's  people  live  there." 

"By  the  Lord,  Merne,  you're  a  genius  for  getting 
over  new  country !" 

"Wait.  I  find  the  child  very  bright — very  clear 
of  mind.  And  listen,  Will — the  mind  of  a  woman  is 
better  for  small  things  than  that  of  a  man.  They 
pick  up  trifles  and  hang  on  to  them.  I'd  as  soon  trust 
that  girl  for  a  guide  out  yonder  as  any  horse-stealing 
warrior  in  a  hurry  to  get  into  a  country  and  in  a 
hurry  to  get  out  of  it  again.  Raiding  parties  cling 
to  the  river-courses,  which  they  know ;  but  she  and  her 
people  must  have  been  far  to  the  west  of  any  place 
these  adventurers  of  the  Minnetarees  ever  saw.  Saca- 
jawea  she  calls  herself — the  'Bird  Woman.'  I  swear 
I  look  upon  that  name  itself  as  a  good  omen!  She 

209 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

has  come  back  like  a  dove  to  the  ark,  this  Bird  Wo 
man.  William  Clark,  we  shall  reach  the  sea — or,  at 
least,  you  will  do  so,  Will,"  he  concluded. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Merne  ?  Surely,  if  I  do,  you 
will  also!" 

"I  cannot  be  sure." 

The  florid  face  of  William  Clark  showed  a  frown 
of  displeasure. 

"You  are  not  as  well  as  you  should  be — you  work 
too  much.  That  is  not  just  to  Mr.  Jefferson,  Merne, 
nor  to  our  men,  nor  to  me." 

"It  was  for  that  reason  I  took  you  on.  Doesn't 
a  man  have  two  lungs,  two  arms,  two  limbs,  two  eyes  ? 
We  are  those  for  Mr.  Jefferson — even  crippled,  the 
expedition  will  live.  You  are  as  my  own  other  hand. 
I  exult  to  see  you  every  morning  smiling  out  of  your 
blankets,  hopeful  and  hungry!" 

Meriwether  Lewis  turned  to  his  colleague  with  the 
sweet  smile  which  sometimes  his  friends  saw. 

"You  see,  I  am  a  fatalist,"  he  went  on.  "Ah,  you 
laugh  at  me!  My  people  must  have  been  owners  of 
the  second  sight,  I  have  often  told  you.  Humor  me, 
Will,  bear  with  me.  Don't  question  me  too  deep. 
Your  flag,  Will,  I  know  will  be  planted  on  the  last 
parapet  of  life — you  were  born  to  succeed.  For  my 
self,  I  still  must  remember  what  my  mother  told  me — 
something  about  the  burden  which  would  be  too  heavy, 
the  trail  which  would  be  long.  At  times  I  doubt." 

"Confound  it,  Merne,  you  have  not  been  yourself 
since  you  got  that  accursed  letter  in  the  night  last 
summer !" 

210 


THE    APPEAL 

"It  was  unsettling,  I  don't  deny." 

"I  pray  Heaven  you'll  never  get  another !"  said  Wil 
liam  Clark.  "From  a  married  woman,  too!  Thank 
God  I've  no  such  affair  on  my  mind !" 

"It  is  taboo,  Will — that  one  thing !" 

And  Clark,  growling  anathemas  on  all  women, 
stalked  away  to  find  his  axmen. 

The  snows  had  come  soft  and  deep,  blown  on  the 
icy  winds.  The  horses  of  the  Mandans  were  housed 
in  the  lodges,  and  lived  on  cottonwood  instead  of 
grass.  When  the  vast  herds  of  buffalo  came  down 
from  the  broken  hills  into  the  shelter  of  the  flats,  the 
men  returned  frostbitten  with  their  loads  of  meat. 
The  sky  was  dark.  The  days  were  short 

To  improve  the  morale  of  their  men,  the  leaders 
now  planned  certain  festivities  for  them.  On  Christ 
mas  Eve  each  man  had  his  stocking  well  stuffed  with 
such  delicacies  as  the  company  stores  afforded — pep 
per,  salt,  dried  fruits  long  cherished  in  the  commis 
sary,  such  other  knickknacks  as  might  be  spared. 

On  Christmas  Day  Drouillard  brought  out  a  fiddle. 
A  dance  was  ordered,  and  went  on  all  day  long  on  the 
puncheon  floor  of  the  main  cabin.  In  moccasins  and 
leggings,  with  hair  long  and  tunics  belted  close  to 
their  lean  waists,  the  white  men  danced  to  the  tunes 
of  their  own  land — the  reels  and  hoedowns  of  old 
Virginia  and  Kentucky. 

The  sounds  of  revelry  were  heard  by  the  Mandans 
who  came  up  to  the  gate. 

"White  men  make  a  medicine  dance/'  th^y  said, 
and  knocked  for  entrance. 

211 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Two  women  only  were  present — the  wife  of  Jus- 
saume,  the  squaw  man,  and  Sacajawea,  the  girl  wife 
of  Charbonneau,  the  interpreter  of  the  Mandans. 
These  two  had  many  presents. 

The  face  of  Sacajawea  was  wreathed  in  smiles. 
Always  her  eyes  followed  the  tall  form  of  Meriwether 
Lewis  wherever  he  went.  Her  own  husband  was  but 
her  husband,  and  already  she  had  elected  Meriwether 
Lewis  as  her  deity.  When  her  husband  thrashed  her, 
always  he  thrashed  her  husband. 

In  her  simple  child's  soul  she  consecrated  herself  to 
the  task  which  he  had  assigned  her.  Yes,  when  the 
grass  came  she  would  take  these  white  men  to  her  own 
people.  If  they  wanted  to  see  the  salt  waters  far  to 
the  west — her  people  had  heard  of  that — then  they 
should  go  there  also.  The  Bird  Woman  was  very 
happy  that  Christmas  Day.  The  chief  had  thrashed 
Charbonneau  and  had  given  her  wonderful  presents! 

All  the  men  danced  but  one — the  youth  Shannon, 
who  once  more  had  met  misfortune.  While  hewing 
with  the  broadax  at  one  of  the  canoes,  he  had  had  the 
misfortune  to  slash  his  foot,  so  must  lie  in  his  bunk 
and  watch  the  others. 

"Keep  the  men  going,  Will,"  said  Meriwether 
Lewis.  "I'll  go  to  my  room  and  get  forward  some 
letters  which  I  want  to  write — to  my  mother  and  to 
Mr.  Jefferson.  At  least  I  can  date  them  Christmas 
Day,  although  Providence  alone  knows  when  they 
may  be  despatched  or  received !" 

He  returned  to  his  owrn  quarters,  where  he  had 
erected  a  little  desk  at  which  he  sometimes  worked, 

212 


THE   APPEAL 

and  sat  down.  For  a  moment  he  remained  in  thought, 
as  the  sound  of  the  dancing  still  came  to  him,  glad 
to  find  his  men  so  happy.  At  length  he  spread  open 
the  back  of  his  little  leather  writing-case,  unscrewed 
his  ink-horn  and  set  it  safe,  drew  his  keen  hunting- 
knife,  and  put  a  point  upon  a  goose-quill  pen.  Then 
he  put  away  the  many  written  pages  which  still  lay  in 
the  portfolio,  the  product  of  his  daily  labors. 

Searching  for  fair  white  paper,  his  eye  caught  sight 
of  a  sealed  and  folded  letter,  apparently  long  unnoticed 
here  among  the  written  and  unwritten  sheets.  In  a 
flash  he  knew  what  it  was!  Once  more  the  blood  in 
his  veins  seemed  to  stop  short. 

TO  CAPTAIN  MERIWETHER  LEWIS,  IN  CHARGE  OF  THE  VOLUN 
TEERS  FOR  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  THE  WEST. ON  THE  TRAIL. 

He  knew  what  hand  had  written  the  words.  For 
one  short  instant  he  had  a  mad  impulse  to  cast  the 
letter  into  the  fire.  Then  there  came  over  him  once 
more  the  feeling  which  oppressd  him  all  his  life — 
that  he  was  a  helpless  instrument  in  the  hands  of  fate. 
He  broke  the  seal — not  noticing  as  he  did  so  that  it 
had  a  number  scratched  into  the  wax — and  read  the 
letter,  which  ran  thus : 

SIR  AND  FRIEND: 

I  know  not  where  these  presents  may  find  you,  or  in  what 
case.  Once  more  I  keep  my  promise  not  to  let  you  go.  Once 
more  you  shall  see  my  face — see,  it  is  looking  up  at  you  from 
the  page !  Tell  me,  do  you  see  me  now  before  you  ? 

Are  other  'faces  of  women  in  your  mind?  Have  they  lost 
themselves  as  women's  faces  so  often — so  soon — are  lost 
from  a  man's  mind?  Can  you  see  me,  Meriwether  Lewis, 
your  childhood  friend? 

213 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Do  you  remember  the  time  you  saved  me  from  the  cows 
in  the  lane  at  your  father's  farm,  when  I  was  but  a  child,  on 
my  first  visit  to  far-off  Virginia?  You  kissed  me  then,  to 
dry  my  tears.  You  were  a  boy;  I  was  a  child  yet  younger. 
Can  you  forget  that  time — can  you  'forget  what  you  said? 

"I  will  always  be  there,  Theodosia,"  you  said,  "when  you 
are  in  trouble !" 

You  said  it  stoutly,  and  I  believed  it,  as  a  child. 

I  believed  you  then — I  believe  you  now.  I  still  have  the 
same  child's  faith  in  you.  My  mother  died  while  I  was 
young;  my  father  has  always  been  so  busy — I  scarcely  have 
been  a  girl,  as  you  say  you  never  were  a  boy.  You  know 
my  husband — he  has  his  own  affairs.  But  you  always  were 
my  friend,  in  so  many  ways ! 

It  is  true  that  I  am  laying  a  secret  on  your  heart — one 
which  you  must  observe  all  your  life.  My  letter  is  'for  you, 
and  for  no  other  eyes.  But  now  I  come  once  more  to  you 
to  hold  you  to  your  promise. 

Meriwether  Lewis,  come  back  to  us!  By  this  time  the 
trail  surely  is  long  enough !  We  are  counting  absolutely  on 
your  return.  I  heard  Mr.  Merry  tell  my  father — and  I  may 
tell  it  to  you — that  on  your  recall  rested  all  hope  of  the  suc 
cess  of  our  own  cause  on  the  lower  Mississippi — for  ourselves 
and  for  you.  If  you  do  not  come  back  to  us,  as  early  as  you 
can,  you  condemn  us  to  'failure — myself — my  life — that  of 
my  father — yourself  also. 

Perhaps  your  delay  may  mean  even  more,  Meriwether 
Lewis.  I  have  to  tell  you  that  times  are  threatening  for  this 
republic.  Relations  between  our  country  and  Great  Britain 
are  strained  to  the  breaking-point.  Mr.  Merry  says  that  if 
our  cause  on  the  lower  Mississippi  shall  not  prevail,  his  own 
country,  as  soon  as  it  can  finish  with  Napoleon,  will  come 
against  this  republic  once  more — both  on  the  Great  Lakes 
and  at  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi.  He  says  that  your  ex 
pedition  into  the  West  will  split  the  country,  if  it  goes  on. 
It  must  be  withdrawn  or  the  gap  must  be  mended  by  war. 
You  see,  then,  one  of  the  sure  results  o'f  this  mad  folly  of 
Thomas  Jefferson. 

Go  on,  there'fore,  if  you  would  ruin  me,  my  father — your 
own  future;  but  will  you  go  on  if  you  face  possible  ruin 

214 


THE    APPEAL 

for  your  own  country  by  so  doing?  This  I  leave  for  you  to 
say. 

Surely  by  now  the  main  object  of  your  expedition  will 
have  been  accomplished — surely  you  may  return  with  all 
practical  results  of  your  labors  in  your  hands.  Were  that 
not  a  wiser  thing?  Does  not  your  duty  lie  toward  the  east, 
and  not  further  toward  the  west?  There  is  a  limit  beyond 
whkh  not  even  a  forlorn  hope  is  asked  to  go  when  it  assails 
a  citadel.  Not  every  general  is  dishonored,  though  he  does 
not  complete  the  campaign  laid  out  for  him.  Expeditions 
have  failed,  and  will  fail,  with  honor.  Leaders  of  men  have 
failed,  will  fail,  with  honor.  I  do  not  call  it  failure  for  you 
to  return  to  us  and  let  the  expedition  go  on.  There  is  a 
limit  to  what  may  be  asked  of  a  man.  There  are  two  of 
you  for  Mr.  Jefferson;  but  for  us  there  is  only  one — it  is 
Captain  Lewis.  And — how  shall  I  say  it  and  not  be  mis 
understood? — there  is  but  one  for  her  whose  face  you  see, 
I  hope,  on  this  page. 

What  limit  is  there  to  the  generosity  of  a  man  like  you — 
what  limit  to  his  desire  to  pay  each  duty,  to  keep  each  prom 
ise  that  he  has  made  in  all  his  life  ?  Will  such  a  man  forget 
his  promise  always  to  kiss  away  the  tears  of  that  companion 
to  whom  he  has  come  in  rescue?  I  am  in  trouble.  Tears 
are  in  my  eyes  as  I  write.  Do  you  forget  that  promise  ?  Do 
you  wish  to  make  yet  happier  the  woman  whom  you  have 
so  many  times  made  happy — who  has  cherished  so  much  am 
bition  for  you? 

Meriwether  Lewis,  my  friend — you  who  would  have  been 
my  lover — for  whom  there  is  no  hope,  since  fate  has  been  so 
unkind — come  back  to  us  in  your  generosity !  Come  back  to 
me,  even  in  your  hopelessness !  Will  you  always  see  me 
with  tears  in  my  eyes  ?  Do  you  see  me  now  ?  I  swear  tears 
fall  even  as  I  write.  And  you  promised  always  to  kiss  my 
tears  away ! 

Farewell  until  I  see  you  again.  May  good  fortune  at 
tend  you  always,  wherever  you  go^ — in  whatever  direction 
you  may  travel — from  us  or  toward  us — from  me  or  with  me  ! 

Meriwether  Lewis  sat,  his  face  between  his  hands, 
staring  down  at  what  he  saw.     Should  he  go  on,  or 
15  215 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

should  he  hand  over  all  to  William  Clark  and  return — 
return  to  keep  his  promise — return  to  comfort,  as  best 
he  might,  with  the  gift  of  all  his  life,  that  face  which 
indeed  he  had  left  in  tears  by  an  unpardonable  act  of 
his  own? 

He  owed  her  everything  she  could  ask  of  him. 
What  must  she  think  of  him  now — that  he  was  not 
only  a  dishonorable  man,  but  also  a  coward  running 
away  from  the  responsibility  of  what  he  had  done? 
No  blow  from  the  hands  of  fate  could  have  given 
him  more  exquisite  agony  than  this. 

For  a  long  time — he  never  knew  how  long — he  sat 
thus,  staring,  pondering,  but  at  length  with  sudden 
energy  he  rose  and  flung  open  the  door  of  the  dancing- 
room. 

"Will!"  he  called  to  his  companion. 

When  William  Clark  joined  his  friend  in  the  outer 
air,  he  saw  the  open  letter  in  Lewis's  hand — saw  also 
the  distress  upon  his  countenance. 

"Merne,  it's  another  letter  from  that  woman!  I 
wish  I  had  her  here,  that  I  might  wring  her  neck!" 
said  William  Clark  viciously.  "Who  brought  it?" 

"I  don't  know." 

Meriwether  Lewis  was  folding  up  the  letter.  He 
placed  it  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat  with  its  fellow,  re 
ceived  months  ago. 

"Will,"  said  he  at  length,  "don't  you  recall  what  I 
was  telling  you  this  very  morning?  I  felt  something 
coming — I  felt  that  fate  had  something  more  for  me. 
You  know  I  spoke  in  doubt." 

"Listen,  Merne!"  replied  William  Clark.  "There 
216 


THE    APPEAL 

is  no  woman  in  the  world  worth  the  misery  this  one 
has  put  on  you.  It  is  a  thing  execrable,  unspeakable !" 

His  friend  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"Rebuke  not  her,  but  me!"  he  said.  "This  letter 
asks  me  to  come  back  to  kiss  away  a  woman's  tears. 
Will,  I  was  the  cause  of  those  tears.  I  can  tell  you  no 
more.  What  /  did  was  a  thing  execrable,  unspeakable 
— I,  your  friend,  did  that!" 

William  Clark,  more  genuinely  troubled  than  ever 
in  his  life  before,  was  dumb. 

"My  future  is  forfeited,  Will,"  went  on  the  same 
even,  dull  voice,  which  Clark  could  scarcely  recognize ; 
"but  I  have  decided  to  go  on  through  with  you." 


CHAPTER   VI 

WHICH    WAY? 

WHICH  way,  Will  ?"  asked  Meriwether  Lewis. 
"Which  is  the  river?  If  we  miss  many 
guesses,  the  British  will  beat  us  through. 
Which  is  our  river  here  ?" 

They  stood  at  the  junction  of  the  Yellowstone  with 
the  Missouri,  and  faced  one  of  the  first  of  their  great 
problems.  It  was  spring  once  more.  The  geese  were 
flying  northward  again;  the  grass  was  green.  Three 
weeks  ago  the  ice  had  run  clear,  and  they  had  left 
their  winter  quarters  among  the  Mandans. 

Five  months  they  had  spent  at  the  Mandan  village; 
for  five  months  they  had  labored  to  reach  that  place  ; 
for  five  months,  or  more,  they  had  lain  at  St.  Louis. 
Time  was  passing.  As  Meriwether  Lewis  said,  few 
wrong  guesses  could  be  afforded. 

Early  in  April  the  great  barge,  manned  by  ten  men, 
had  set  out  down  stream,  carrying  with  it  the  proof 
of  the  success  of  the  expedition.  It  bore  many  new 
things,  precious  things,  things  unknown  to  civilization. 
Among  these  were  sixty  specimens  of  plants,  as  many 
of  minerals  and  earth,  weapons  of  the  Indians,  ex 
amples  of  their  clothing,  specimens  of  the  corn  and 

218 


WHICH    WAY? 

other  vegetables  which  they  raised,  horns  of  the  big 
horn  and  the  antelope — both  animals  then  new  to 
science — antlers  of  the  deer  and  elk,  stuffed  specimens, 
dried  skins,  herbs,  fruits,  flowers ;  and  with  all  these  the 
broken  story  of  a  new  geography — the  greatest  story 
ever  sent  out  for  publication  by  any  man  or  men;  and 
all  done  in  Homeric  simplicity. 

As  the  great  barge  had  started  down  the  river, 
the  two  pirogues  which  had  come  so  far,  joined  by 
the  cottonwood  dugouts  laboriously  fabricated  during 
the  winter  months,  had  started  up  the  river,  manned 
by  thirty-one  men. 

With  the  pick  of  the  original  party,  there  had  come 
but  one  woman,  the  girl  Sacajawea,  with  her  little 
baby,  born  that  winter  at  the  Mandan  fortress.  Saca 
jawea  now  had  her  place  in  the  camp;  she  and  her 
infant  were  the  pets  of  all.  She  sat  in  the  sunlight, 
her  baby  in  her  lap,  by  her  side  an  Indian  dog,  a  waif 
which  Lewis  had  found  abandoned  in  an  Indian  en 
campment,  and  which  had  attached  itself  to  him. 

Sacajawea  smiled  as  the  tall  form  of  the  captain 
came  toward  her.  She  had  already  learned  some  of 
the  words  of  his  tongue,  he  some  of  hers. 

"Which  way,  Sacajawea?"  asked  Meriwether  Lewis. 
"What  river  is  this  which  goes  on  to  the  left?" 

"Him  Ro'shone,"  replied  the  girl.  "My  man  call 
him  that.  No  good!  Him — big  river'*;  and  she 
pointed  toward  the  right-hand  stream. 

"As  I  thought,  Will,"  said  Lewis,  nodding;  and 
again,  to  the  Indian  girl:  "Do  you  remember  this 
place?" 

219 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

She  nodded  her  head  vigorously  and  smiled. 

"See!" 

With  a  pointed  stick  she  began  to  sketch  a  map  on 
the  sand  of  the  river  bar,  showing  how  the  Yellow 
stone  flowed  from  the  south — how,  far  on  ahead,  its 
upper  course  bent  toward  the  Missouri,  with  a  march 
of  not  more  than  a  day  between  the  two.  The  maps 
of  this  new  world  that  first  came  back  to  civilization 
were  copies  of  Indians'  drawings  made  with  a  pointed 
stick  upon  the  earth,  or  with  a  coal  on  a  whitened 
hide. 

"She  knows,  Will!"  said  Lewis.  "See,  this  place 
she  marks  near  the  mountain  summit,  where  the  two 
streams  are  close — some  time  we  must  explore  that 
crossing!" 

"I'm  sure  I'd  rather  trust  her  map  than  this  one, 
here,  of  old  Jonathan  Carver,"  answered  Clark,  the 
map-maker.  "His  idea  of  this  country  is  that  four 
great  rivers  head  about  where  we  are  now.  He  marks 
the  river  Bourbon — which  I  never  heard  of — as  run 
ning  north  to  Hudson  Bay,  but  he  has  the  St.  Law 
rence  rising  near  here,  too — and  it  must  be  fifteen 
hundred  or  two  thousand  miles  off  to  the  east !  The 
Mississippi,  too,  he  thinks  heads  about  here,  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Yellowstone,  and  yonder  runs  the  Oregon 
River,  which  I  presume  is  the  Columbia.  Tis  all  very 
simple,  on  Carver's  maps,  but  perhaps  not  quite  so  easy, 
if  we  follow  that  of  Sacajawea.  This  country  is  wider 
than  any  of  us  ever  dreamed." 

"And  greater,  and  more  beautiful  in  every  way," 
assented  his  companion. 

220 


WHICH    WAY? 

They  stood  and  gazed  about  them  at  the  scene  o£ 
wild  beauty.  The  river  ran  in  long  curves  between 
bold  and  sculptured  bluffs,  among  groves  of  native 
trees,  now  softly  green.  Above,  on  the  prairies,  lay 
a  carpet  of  the  shy  wild  rose,  most  beautiful  of  the 
prairie  blossoms.  All  about  were  shrubs  and  flowers, 
now  putting  forth  their  claims  in  the  renewed  life  of 
spring. 

On  the  plains  fed  the  buffalo,  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach.  Antelope,  deer,  the  shy  bighorn,  all  these 
might  be  seen,  and  the  footprints  of  the  giant  bears 
along  the  beaches.  It  was  the  wilderness,  and  it  was 
theirs — they  owned  it  all ! 

Thus  far  they  had  seen  no  sign  of  any  human  occu 
pancy.  They  did  not  meet  a  single  human  being,  red 
or  white,  all  that  summer.  A  vast,  silent,  unclaimed 
land,  beautiful  and  abounding,  lay  waiting  for  occu 
pancy.  There  was  no  map  of  it — none  save  that 
written  on  the  soil  now  and  then  by  an  Indian  girl 
sixteen  years  of  age. 

They  plodded  on  now,  taking  the  right-hand  stream, 
with  full  confidence  in  their  guidance,  forging  onward 
a  little  every  day,  between  the  high  banks  of  the  swift 
river  that  came  down  from  the  great  mountains.  April 
passed,  and  May. 

"Soon  we  see  the  mountains!"  insisted  Sacajawea, 

And  at  last,  two  months  out  from  the  Mandans, 
Lewis  looked  westward  from  a  little  eminence  and 
saw  a  low,  broken  line,  white  in  spots,  not  to  be  con 
fused  with  the  lesser  eminences  of  the  near-by  land 
scape. 

221 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"It  is  the  mountains!"  he  exclaimed.  "There  lie 
the  Stonies.  They  do  exist!  We  shall  surely  reach 
them !  We  have  won !" 

Not  yet  had  they  won.  These  shining-  mountains 
lay  a  long  distance  to  the  westward;  and  yet  other 
questions  were  to  be  settled  ere  they  might  be  reached. 

Within  a  week  they  came  to  yet  another  forking 
of  the  stream.  A  strong  river  came  boiling  down 
from  the  north,  of  color  and  depth  much  similar  to 
that  of  the  Missouri  they  had  known.  On  the  left 
ran  a  less  turbulent  and  clearer  stream.  Which  was 
the  way  ? 

"The  north  wan,  she'll  be  the  right  wan,  Capitaine," 
said  Cruzatte,  himself  a  good  voyageur. 

Most  of  the  men  agreed  with  him.  The  leaders  re 
called  that  the  Mandans  had  said  that  the  Missouri 
after  a  time  grew  clear  in  color,  and  that  it  would 
lead  to  the  mountains.  Which,  now,  was  the  Mis 
souri  ? 

They  found  the  moccasin  of  an  Indian  not  far  from 
here. 

"Blackfoot!"  said  Sacajawea,  and  pointed  to  the 
north,  shaking  her  head. 

She  insisted  that  the  left-hand  river  was  the  right 
one;  but,  unwilling  as  yet  to  rely  on  her  fully,  the 
leaders  called  a  council  of  the  men,  and  listened  to 
their  arguments. 

They  knew  well  enough  that  a  wrong  choice  here 
might  mean  the  failure  of  their  expedition.  Cruzatte 
had  many  adherents.  The  men  began  to  mutter. 

"If  we  go  up  that  left-hand  stream  we  shall  be 


WHICH    WAY? 

lost  among  the  mountains,"  one  said.  "We  shall  per 
ish  when  the  winter  comes !" 

"We  will  go  both  ways/'  said  Meriwether  Lewis  at 
length.  "Captain  Clark  will  explore  the  lower  fork, 
while  I  go  up  the  right-hand  stream.  We  will  meet 
here  when  we  know  the  truth." 

So  Lewis  traveled  two  days'  journey  up  the  right- 
hand  fork  before  he  turned  back,  thoughtful. 

"I  have  decided,"  said  he  to  the  men  who  accom 
panied  him.  "This  stream  will  lead  us  far  to  the  north, 
into  the  British  country.  It  cannot  be  the  true  Mis 
souri.  I  shall  call  this  Maria's  River,  after  my  cousin 
in  Virginia,  Maria  Woods.  I  shall  not  call  it  the 
Missouri." 

He  met  Clark  at  the  fork  of  the  river,  and  again 
they  held  a  council.  The  men  were  still  dissatisfied. 
Clark  had  advanced  some  distance  up  the  left-hand 
stream. 

"We  must  prove  it  yet  further,"  said  Meriwether 
Lewis.  "Captain  Clark,  do  you  remain  here,  while  I 
go  on  ahead  far  enough  to  know  absolutely  whether 
we  are  right  or  wrong.  If  we  are  not  right  in  our 
choice,  it  is  as  the  men  say — we  shall  fail !  But  where 
is  Sacajawea?"  he  added.  "I  will  ask  her  once  more." 

Sacajawea  was  ill;  she  was  in  a  fever.  She  could 
not  talk  to  her  husband ;  but  to  Lewis  she  talked,  and 
always  she  said,  "That  way!  By  and  by,  big  falls — 
um-m-m,  um-m-m!" 

"Guard  her  well,"  said  Lewis  anxiously.  "Much 
depends  on  her.  I  must  go  on  ahead." 

He  took  the  French  interpreter,  Drouillard,  and 
223 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

three  of  the  Kentuckians,  and  started  on  up  the  left- 
hand  stream  with  one  boat.  The  current  of  the  river 
seemed  to  stiffen.  It  cost  continually  increasing  toil 
to  get  the  boat  upstream.  They  were  gone  for  several 
days,  and  no  word  came  back  from  them. 

Meantime,  at  the  river  forks,  William  Clark  was 
busy.  It  was  obvious  that  the  explorers  must  lighten 
the  loads  of  their  boats.  They  began  to  cache  all  the 
heavy  goods  with  which  they  could  dispense — their 
tools,  the  extra  lead  and  powder-tins,  some  of  the 
flour,  all  the  heavy  stuff  which  would  encumber  them 
most  seriously.  Here,  too,  was  the  end  of  the  journey 
of  the  red  pirogue  from  St.  Louis — they  hid  it  in  the 
willows  of  an  island  near  the  mouth  of  Maria's  River. 

Lewis  himself,  weak  from  toil,  fell  ill  on  the  way, 
but  still  he  would  not  stop.  He  came  to  a  point  from 
which  he  could  see  the  mountains  plainly  on  ahead. 
The  river  was  narrow,  flowing  through  a  canon. 

The  next  day  they  came  to  the  foot  of  the  Great 
Falls  of  the  Missouri,  alone,  majestic  here  in  the 
wilderness,  soundless  save  for  their  own  dashing — 
those  wonderful  cascades,  now  so  well  known  in 
industry,  so  nearly  forgotten  in  history. 

"The  girl  was  right — this  is  the  river!"  said  Lewis 
to  his  men.  "It  comes  from  the  mountains.  We  are 
right!" 

Cascade  after  cascade,  rapid  after  rapid,  he  pushed 
on  to  the  head  of  the  great  drop  of  the  Missouri,  where 
it  plunges  down  from  its  upper  valley  for  its  long 
journey  through  the  vast  plains. 

Now  word  went  down  to  the  mouth  of  Maria's 
224 


WHICH    WAY? 

River ;  but  the  messenger  met  Clark  already  toiling  up 
ward  with  his  boats,  for  he  had  guessed  the  cause  of 
delay,  and  at  last  believed  Sacajawea. 

"Make  some  boat-trucks,  Will/'  said  Lewis,  when 
at  last  they  were  all  encamped  at  the  foot  of  the  falls. 
"We  shall  have  to  portage  twenty  miles  of  falls  and 
rapids." 

And  William  Clark,  the  ever-ready  engineer,  who 
always  had  a  solution  for  any  problem  in  mechanics 
or  in  geography,  went  to  work  upon  the  hardest  task 
in  transportation  they  yet  had  had. 

"We  must  leave  more  plunder  here,  Merne,"  said 
he.  "We  can't  get  into  the  mountains  with  all  this/' 

So  again  they  cached  some  of  their  stores.  They 
buried  here  the  great  swivel  piece  which  had  "made 
the  thunder"  among  so  many  savage  tribes.  Also 
there  were  stored  here  the  spring's  collection  of  ani 
mals  and  minerals,  certain  books  and  maps  not  needed, 
and  the  great  grindstone  which  had  come  all  the  way 
from  Harper's  Ferry.  They  were  stripping  for  their 
race. 

It  took  the  party  a  full  month  to  make  the  portage. 
They  were  worn  to  the  bone  by  the  hard  labor,  scorched 
by  the  sun,  and  frozen  by  the  night  winds. 

"We  must  go  on!"  was  always  the  cry. 

All  felt  that  the  summer  was  going;  none  knew 
what  might  be  on  ahead. 

At  the  cost  of  greater  and  greater  toil  they  pushed 
on  up  their  river  above  the  falls,  until  presently  its 
course  bent  off  to  the  south  again.  They  passed 
through  a  country  of  such  wealth  as  none  of  them  had 

225 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

ever  dreamed  of,  but  they  did  not  suspect  the  hidden 
treasures  of  gold  and  silver  which  lay  so  close  to 
them  on  the  floor  of  the  mountain  valleys.  What  in 
terested  them  more  was  the  excitement  of  Sacajawea, 
who  from  time  to  time  pointed  out  traces  of  human 
occupancy. 

"My  people  here!"  said  she,  and  pointed  to  camp- 
fires.  "Plenty  people  come  here.  Heap  hunt  buf 
falo!"  She  pointed  out  the  trails  made  by  the  lodge- 
poles. 

"She  knows,  Will!"  said  Lewis,  once  more.  "We 
have  a  guide  even  here.  We  are  the  luckiest  of  men !" 

"Soon  we  come  where  three  rivers,"  said  Sacajawea 
one  day.  They  had  passed  to  the  south  and  west 
through  the  first  range  of  mountains — through  that 
Gate  of  the  Mountains  near  to  the  rich  gold  fields  of 
the  future  State  of  Montana.  "By  and  by,  three  rivers 
—I  know!" 

And  it  was  as  she  had  said.  The  men,  wearied  to 
the  limit  by  the  toil  of  getting  the  boats  upstream  by 
line  and  setting  pole,  at  last  found  their  mountain 
river  broken  into  three  separate  streams. 

"We  will  camp  here,"  said  the  leader.  "We  are 
tired,  we  have  worked  long  and  hard !" 

"My  people  come  here,"  said  Sacajawea,  "plenty 
time.  Here  the  Minnetarees  struck  my  people — five 
snows  ago  that  was.  They  caught  me  and  took  me 
with  them,  so  I  find  Charbonneau  among  the  Mandans. 
Here  my  people  live !" 

Without  hesitation  she  pointed  out  that  one  of  the 
three  forks  of  the  Missouri  which  led  off  to  the  west- 

226 


WHICH    WAY? 

ward — the  one  that  Meriwether  Lewis  called  the  Jef 
ferson. 

And  now  every  man  in  the  party  felt  that  they  were 
on  the  right  path  as  they  turned  into  that  stream ;  but 
at  the  Beaver  Head  Rock — well  known  to  all  the 
Indians — they  went  into  camp  once  more. 

"Captains  make  medicine  now,"  said  Sacajawea 
to  Charbonneau,  her  husband. 

For  once  more  the  captains  hesitated.  There  were 
many  passes,  many  valleys,  many  trails.  Which  was 
the  wray  ?  The  men  grew  sullen  again. 

They  lay  in  camp  for  days,  sending  out  parties, 
feeling  out  the  way;  but  the  explorers  always  came 
back  uncertain.  It  was  Clark  who  led  these  scouting 
parties  now,  for  Lewis  was  well-nigh  broken  down  in 
health. 

One  night,  alone,  the  leader  sat  by  his  little  fire, 
thinking,  thinking,  as  so  often  he  did  now.  The  stars, 
unspeakably  brilliant,  lit  up  the  wild  scene  about 
him.  This  was  the  wilderness !  He  had  sought  it  all 
his  life.  All  his  life  it  had  called  to  him  aloud.  What 
had  it  done  for  him,  after  all  ?  Had  it  taught  him  to 
forget  ? 

Two  years  now  had  passed,  and  still  he  saw  a  face 
which  would  not  go  away.  Still  there  arose  before 
him  the  same  questions  whose  debate  had  torn  his  soul, 
worn  out  his  body,  through  these  weary  months. 

"You  will  be  cold,  sir,"  said  one  of  the  men  solic 
itously,  as  he  passed  on  his  way  to  guard  mount. 
"Shall  I  fetch  your  coat?" 

Lewis  thanked  him,  and  the  man  brought  from  his 
227 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

tent  the  captain's  uniform  coat,  which  he  had  forgot 
ten.  Absently  he  sought  to  put  it  on,  and  felt  some 
thing  crinkling  in  the  sleeve.  It  was  a  bit  of  paper. 

He  halted,  the  old  presentiment  coming  to  his  mind. 

"Is  Shannon  here?"  he  asked  of  the  man  who  had 
handed  him  the  coat.  "He  was  to  get  my  moccasins 
mended  for  me." 

"No,  captain,  he  is  out  with  Captain  Clark,"  replied 
Fields,  the  Kentuckian. 

"Very  well— that  will  do,  Fields." 

Meriwether  Lewis  sat  down  again  by  his  little  fire, 
his  last  letter  in  his  hand.  Gently  he  ran  a  finger  along 
the  seal — stooped  over,  kicked  together  the  embers  of 
the  fire,  and  saw  scratched  in  the  wax  a  number.  This 
was  Number  Three! 

He  did  not  open  it  for  a  time.  He  looked  at  it — no 
longer  in  dread,  but  in  eagerness.  It  seemed  to  him, 
indeed,  as  if  the  letter  had  come  in  response  to  the  out 
cry  of  his  soul — that  it  really  had  dropped  from  the 
sky,  manna  for  a  hungry  heart.  It  was  the  absence  of 
this  which  had  worn  him  thin,  left  him  the  shadow 
of  the  man  he  should  have  been. 

Here,  as  he  knew  well,  was  one  more  summons  to 
what  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  duty.  And  off  to  the  west, 
shining  cold  in  the  night  under  the  stars,  stood  the 
mountains,  beckoning.  Which  was  the  way? 

He  broke  the  seal  slowly,  with  no  haste,  knowing 
that  whatever  the  letter  said  it  could  mean  only  more 
unhappiness  to  him.  Yet  he  was  hungry  for  it  as  one 
who  longs  for  a  soothing  drug. 

He  pushed  together  yet  more  closely  the  burning 
228 


WHICH    WAY? 

sticks  of  his  little  fire  and  bent  over  to  read.  It  was 
very  little  that  he  saw  written,  but  it  spoke  to  him 
like  a  voice  in  the  night: 

Come  back  to  me — ah,  come  back!  I  need  you.  I  im 
plore  you  to  return ! 

There  was  no  address,  no  date,  no  signature.  There 
was  no  means  of  telling  whence  or  how  this  letter  had 
come  to  him,  more  than  any  of  the  others. 

Go  back  to  her — how  could  he,  now  ?  It  was  more 
than  a  year  since  these  words  had  been  written !  What 
avail  now,  if  he  did  return  ?  No,  he  had  delayed,  he 
had  gone  on,  and  he  had  cost  her — what?  Perhaps 
her  happiness  as  well  as  his  own,  perhaps  the  success 
of  herself  and  of  many  others,  perhaps  his  own  suc 
cess  in  life.  Against  that,  what  could  he  measure? 

The  white  mountains  on  ahead  made  no  reply  to 
him.  The  stars  glowed  cold  and  white  above  him,  but 
they  seemed  like  a  thousand  facets  of  pitiless  light 
turned  upon  his  soul. 

The  quavering  howl  of  a  wolf  on  a  nearby  eminence 
sounded  like  a  voice  to  him,  mocking,  taunting,  fiend 
ish.  Never,  it  seemed  to  him,  had  any  man  been  thus 
unhappy.  Even  the  wilderness  had  failed  him !  In  a 
land  of  desolation  he  sat,  a  desolate  soul. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  MOUNTAINS 

WHEN  William  Clark  returned  from  his  three 
days'  scouting  trip,  his  forehead  was  fur 
rowed  with  anxiety.  His  men  were  silent 
as  they  filed  into  camp  and  cast  down  their  knap 
sacks. 

'It's  no  use,  Merne,"  said  Clark,  "we  are  in  a  pocket 
here.  The  other  two  forks,  which  we  called  the  Madi 
son  and  the  Gallatin,  both  come  from  the  southeast, 
entirely  out  of  our  course.  The  divide  seems  to  face 
around  south  of  us  and  bend  up  again  on  the  west. 
Who  knows  the  way  across  ?  Our  river  valley  is  gone. 
The  only  sure  way  seems  back — downstream." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  demanded  Meriwether  Lewis 
quietly. 

"I  scarce  know.  I  am  worn  out,  Merne.  My  men 
have  been  driven  hard." 

"And  why  not?" 

His  companion  remained  silent  under  the  apparent 
rebuke. 

"You  don't  mean  that  we  should  return?"  Lewis 
went  on. 

"Why  not,  Merne?"  said  William  Clark,  sighing. 
230 


THE    MOUNTAINS 

"Our  men  are  exhausted.  There  are  other  years  than 
this." 

Meriwether  Lewis  turned  upon  his  friend  with  the 
one  flash  of  wrath  which  ever  was  known  between 
them. 

"Good  Heavens,  Captain  Clark,"  said  he,  "there  is 
not  any  other  year  than  this !  There  is  not  any  other 
month,  or  week,  or  day  but  this !  It  is  not  for  you  or 
me  to  hesitate — within  the  hour  I  shall  go  on.  We'll 
cross  over,  or  we'll  leave  the  bones  of  every  man  of 
the  expedition  here — this  year — now!" 

Clark's  florid  face  flushed  under  the  sting-  of  his 
comrade's  words;  but  his  response  was  manful  and 
just. 

"You  are  right,"  said  he  at  length.  "Forgive  me 
if  for  a  moment — just  a  moment — I  seemed  to  ques 
tion  the  possibility  of  going  forward.  Give  me  a  night 
to  sleep.  As  I  said,  I  am  worn  out.  If  I  ever  see  Mr. 
Jefferson  again,  I  shall  tell  him  that  all  the  credit 
for  this  expedition  rests  with  you.  I  shall  say  that 
once  I  wavered,  and  that  I  had  no  cause.  You  do  not 
waver — yet  I  know  what  excuse  you  would  have 
for  it." 

"You  are  only  weary,  Will.  It  is  my  turn  now," 
said  Meriwether  Lewis;  and  he  never  told  his  friend 
of  this  last  letter. 

A  moment  later  he  had  called  one  of  his  men. 

"McNeal,"  said  he,  "get  Reuben  Fields,  White- 
house,  and  Goodrich.  Make  light  packs.  We  are  go 
ing  into  the  mountains !" 

The  four  men  shortly  appeared,  but  they  were 
16  231 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

silent,  morose,  moody.  Those  who  were  to  remain  in 
the  camp  shared  their  silence.  Sacajawea  alone  smiled 
as  they  departed. 

"That  way!"  said  she,  pointing;  and  she  knew  that 
her  chief  would  find  the  path. 

May  we  not  wonder,  in  these  later  days,  if  any  of 
us,  who  reap  so  carelessly  and  so  selfishly  where  others 
have  plowed  and  sown,  reflect  as  we  should  upon  the. 
first  cost  of  what  we  call  our  own?  The  fifteen  mil 
lion  dollars  paid  for  the  vast  empire  which  these  men 
were  exploring — that  was  little — that  was  naught. 
But  ah,  the  costtin  blood  and  toil  and  weariness,  in  love 
and  loyalty  and  faith,  in  daring  and  suffering  and 
heartbreak  of  those  who  went  ahead!  It  was  a  few 
brave  leaders  W7ho  furnished  the  stark,  unflinching 
courage  for  us  all. 

Sergeant  Ordway,  with  Pryor  and  Gass,  met  in  one 
of  the  many  little  ominous  groups  that  now  began  to 
form  among  the  men  in  camp.  Captain  Clark  was 
sleeping,  exhausted. 

"It  stands  to  reason,"  said  Ordway,  usually  so  silent, 
"that  the  way  across  the  range  is  up  one  valley  to  the 
divide  and  down  the  next  creek  on  the  opposite  side. 
That  is  the  way  we  crossed  the  Alleghanies." 

Pryor  nodded  his  head. 

"Sure,"  said  he,  "and  all  the  game-trails  break  off 
to  the  south  and  southwest.  Follow  the  elk!" 

"Is  it  so?"  exclaimed  Patrick  Gass.  "You  think  it 
aisy  to  find  a  way  across  yonder  range  ?  And  how  d'ye 
know  jist  how  the  Alleghanies  was  crossed  first?  Did 
they  make  it  the  first  toime  they  thried?  Things  is 

232 


THE    MOUNTAINS 

aisy  enough  after  they've  been  done  wanst — but  it's  the 
first  toime  that  counts!" 

"There  is  no  other  way,  Pat,"  argued  Ordway.  'Tis 
the  rivers  that  make  passes  in  any  mountain  range." 

"Which  is  the  roight  river,  then?"  rejoined  Gass. 
"We're  lookin'  for  wan  that  mebbe  is  nowhere  near 
here;  S'pose  we  go  to  the  top  yonder  and  take  a 
creek  down,  and  s'pose  that  creek  don't  run  the  roight 
way  at  all,  but  comes  out  a  thousand  miles  to  the 
southwest — where  are  you  then,  I'd  like  to  know? 
The  throuble  with  us  is  we're  the  first  wans  to  cross 
here,  and  not  comin'  along  after  some  one  else  has 
done  the  thrick  for  us." 

Pryor  was  willing  to  argue  further. 

"All  the  Injuns  have  said  the  big  river  was  over 
there  somewhere." 

"  'Somewhere' !"  exclaimed  Patrick  Gass.  "  'Some 
where*  is  a  mighty  long  ways  when  we're  lost  and 
hungry !" 

"Which  is  just  what  we  are  now,"  rejoined  Pryor. 
"The  sooner  we  start  back  the  quicker  we'll  be  out  of 
this." 

"Pryor!"  The  square  face  of  the  Irishman  hardened 
at  once.  "Listen  to  me.  Ye're  my  bunkmate  and 
friend,  but  I  warn  ye  not  to  say  that  agin!  If  ye  said 
it  where  he  could  hear  ye — that  man  ahead — do  you 
know  what  he  would  do  to  you?" 

"I  ain't  particular.  Tis  time  we  took  this  thing 
into  our  own  hands." 

"It's  where  we're  takin'  it  now,  Pryor!"  said  Gass 
ominously.  "A  coort  martial  has  set  for  less  than  that 
ye've  said !" 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"Mebbe  you  couldn't  call  one — I  don't  know/' 

"Mebbe  we  couldn't,  eh  ?  I  mind  me  of  a  little  set 
tlement  I  had  with  that  man  wanst — no  coort  martial 
at  all — me  not  enlisted  at  the  toime,  and  not  responsi 
ble  under  the  arthicles  of  war.  I  said  to  his  face  I  was 
of  the  belief  I  could  lick  him.  I  said  it  kindly,  and 
meant  no  harm,  because  at  the  time  it  seemed  to  me  I 
could,  and  'twould  be  a  pleasure  to  me.  But  boys,  he 
hit  me  wan  time,  and  when  I  came  to  I  was  careless 
whether  it  was  the  arthicles  of  war  or  not  had  hit  me. 
Listen  to  me  now,  Pryor — and  you,  too,  Ordway — a 
man  like  that  is  liable  to  have  judgment  in  his  head  as 
well  as  a  punch  in  his  arm.  We're  safer  to  folly  him 
than  to  folly  ourselves.  Moreover,  I  want  you  to  say 
to  your  men  that  we  will  not  have  thim  foregatherin' 
around  and  talkin'  any  disrespect  to  their  shuperiors. 
If  we're  in  a  bad  place,  let  us  fight  our  ways  out.  Let's 
not  turn  back  until  we  are  forced.  I  never  did  loike 
any  rooster  in  the  ring  that  would  either  squawk  or 
run  away.  That  man  yonder,  on  ahead,  naded  mighty 
little  persuadin'  to  fight.  I'm  with  him!" 

"Well,  maybe  you  are  right,  Pat,"  said  Ordway 
after  a  time.  And  so  the  mutiny  once  more  halted. 

The  tide  changed  quickly  when  it  began  to  set  the 
other  way.  Lewis  led  an  advance  party  across  the 
range.  One  day,  deep  in  the  mountains,  he  was  sweep 
ing  the  country  with  his  spyglass,  as  was  his  custom. 
He  gave  a  sudden  exclamation. 

"What  is  it,  Captain  ?"  asked  Hugh  McNeal.  "Some 
game?" 

"No,  a  man — an  Indian !  Riding  a  good  horse,  too — 

234 


THE    MOUNTAINS 

that  means  he  has  more  horses  somewhere.  Come,  we 
will  call  to  him !" 

The  wild  rider,  however,  had  nothing  but  suspicion 
for  the  newcomers.  Staring  at  them,  he  wheeled  at 
length  and  was  away  at  top  speed.  Once  more  they 
were  alone,  and  none  the  better  off. 

"His  people  are  that  way,"  said  Lewis.    "Come!" 

But  all  that  day  passed,  and  that  night,  and  still 
they  found  none  of  the  natives.  But  they  began  to  see 
signs  of  Indians  now,  fresh  tracks,  hoofprints  of  many 
horses.  And  thus  finally  they  came  upon  two  Indian 
women  and  a  child,  whom  the  white  men  surprised  be 
fore  they  were  able  to  escape.  Lewis  took  up  the  child, 
and  showed  the  mother  that  he  was  a  friend. 

"These  are  Shoshones,"  said  he  to  his  men.  "I  can 
speak  with  them — I  have  learned  some  of  their  tongue 
from  Sacajawea.  These  are  her  people.  We  are 
safe!" 

Sixty  warriors  met  them,  all  mounted,  all  gorgeous 
ly  clad.  Again  the  great  peace  pipe,  again  the  spread 
blanket  inviting  the  council.  The  Shoshones  showed 
no  signs  of  hostility — the  few  words  of  their  tongue 
which  Lewis  was  able  to  speak  gave  them  assur 
ance. 

"McNeal,"  said  Lewis,  "go  back  now  across  the 
range,  and  tell  Captain  Clark  to  bring  up  the  men." 

William  Clark,  given  one  night's  sleep,  was  his  en 
ergetic  self  again,  and  not  in  mind  to  lie  in  camp. 
He  had  already  ordered  camp  broken,  more  of  the 
heavier  articles  cached,  the  canoes  concealed  here  and 
there  along  the  stream  and  had  pushed  on  after  Lewis. 

235 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

He  met  McNeal  coming  down,  bearing  the  tidings. 
Sacajawea  ran  on  ahead  in  glee. 

"My  people !    My  people !"  she  cried. 

They  were  indeed  safe  now.  Sacajawea  found  her 
brother,  the  chief  of  this  band  of  Shoshones,  and  was 
made  welcome.  She  found  many  friends  of  her  girl 
hood,  who  had  long  mourned  her  as  dead.  The  girls 
and  younger  women  laughed  and  wept  in  turn  as  they 
welcomed  her  and  her  baby.  She  was  a  great  person. 
Never  had  such  news  as  this  come  among  the 
Shoshones.1 


1  Cara-e-ah-wit  was  the  name  of  Sacajawea's  brother,  the 
Shoshone  chief.  The  country  where  Lewis  met  him  is  remote 
from  any  large  city  today.  Pass  through  the  Gate  of  the 
Mountains,  not  far  'from  Helena,  Montana,  and  ascend  the 
upper  valley  of  the  Missouri,  as  it  sweeps  west  of  what  is 
now  the  Yellowstone  Park,  and  one  may  follow  with  a  cer 
tain  degree  of  comfort  the  trail  of  the  early  explorers.  If 
one  should  then  follow  the  Jefferson  Fork  o'f  the  great  river 
up  to  its  last  narrowing,  one  would  reach  the  country  of 
Cam-e-ah-wit.  Here  is  the  crest  of  the  Continental  Divide, 
where  it  sweeps  up  from  the  south,  after  walling  in,  as  if 
in  a  vast  cup,  the  three  main  sources  of  the  great  river. 
Much  of  that  valley  country  is  in  fertile  farms  today.  Lewis 
and  Clark  passed  within  twelve  miles  of  Alder  Gulch,  which 
wrote  roaring  history  in  the  early  sixties — the  wild  placer 
days  of  gold-mining  in  Montana. 

As  for  Sacajawea,  she  has  a  monument — a  very  poor  and 
inadequate  one — in  the  city  of  Portland,  Oregon.  The  crest 
of  the  Great  Divide,  where  she  met  her  brother,  would  have 
been  a  better  place.  It  was  here,  in  effect,  that  she  ended 
that  extraordinary  guidance — some  call  it  nothing  less  than 
providential — which  brought  the  white  men  through  in  safety. 

Trace  this  Indian  girl's  birth  and  childhood,  here  among 
the  Shoshones,  who  had  fled  to  the  mountains  to  escape  the 
guns  of  the  Blackfeet.  Recall  her  capture  here  by  the  Min- 

236 


THE    MOUNTAINS 

All  were  now  content  to  lie  for  a  few  days  at  the 
Shoshone  village.  A  brisk  trade  in  Indian  horses  now 
sprang  up — they  would  be  footmen  no  more. 

"Which  way,  Sacajawea?"  Meriwether  Lewis  once 
more  asked  the  Indian  girl. 

But  now  she  only  shook  her  head. 

"Not  know,"  said  she.  "These  my  people.  They 
say  big  river  that  way.  Not  know  which  way." 

"Now,  Merne,"  said  William  Clark,  "it's  my  turn 
again.  We  have  got  to  learn  the  best  way  out  from 
these  mountains.  If  there  is  a  big  river  below,  some 
of  these  valleys  must  run  down  to  it.  Their  waters 
probably  flow  to  the  Columbia.  The  Indians  talk  of 

netarees  from  the  Dakota  country.  Picture  her  long  journey 
thence  to  the  east,  on  foot,  by  horse,  in  bull-hide  canoes, 
many  hundreds  of  miles,  to  the  Mandan  villages.  It  is  some 
thing  of  a  journey,  even  now.  Reverse  that  journey,  go 
against  the  swift  current  of  the  waters,  beyond  the  Great 
Falls,  past  Helena,  west  of  the  Yellowstone  Park,  and  up 
to  the  Continental  Divide,  where  she  met  her  brother.  You 
will  find  that  that  is  still  more  o'f  a  journey,  even  today, 
with  roads,  and  towns,  and  maps  to  guide  you.  Meriwether 
Lewis  could  not  have  made  it  without  her. 

While  he  was  studying  the  courses  of  the  stars,  at  Phila 
delphia,  preparing  to  lead  his  expedition,  Sacajawea  was 
learning  the  story  of  nature  also;  and  she  was  waiting  to 
guide  the  white  men  when  they  reached  the  Mandan  villages. 
Who  guided  her  in  such  unbelievably  strange  fashion?  The 
Indians  sometimes  made  long  journeys,  their  war  parties 
traveled  far,  and  their  captives  also;  but  in  all  the  history 
of  the  tribes  there  is  no  record  of  a  journey  made  by  any 
Indian  woman  equal  to  that  of  Sacajawea.  Why  did  she 
make  it?  What  hand  pointed  out  the  way  for  her? 

A  statue  to  her?  She  should  have  a  thousand  memorials 
along  the  old  trail !  Her  name  should  be  known  familiarly 
by  every  school  child  in  America ! 

237 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

salmon  and  of  white  men — they  have  heard  of  goods 
which  must  have  been  made  by  white  men.  We  are 
in  touch  with  the  Pacific  here.  I'll  get  a  guide  and  ex 
plore  off  to  the  southwest.  It  looks  better  there." 

"No  good — no  good!"  insisted  Sacajawea.  "That 
\vay  no  good.  My  brother  say  go  that  way." 

She  pointed  to  the  north,  and  insisted  that  the  party 
should  go  in  that  direction. 

For  a  hundred  miles  Clark  scouted  down  the  head 
waters  of  the  Salmon  River,  and  at  last  turned  back, 
to  report  that  neither  horse  nor  boat  ever  could  get 
through.  At  the  Shoshone  village,  uneasy,  the  men 
were  waiting  for  him. 

"That  way!"  said  Sacajawea,  still  pointing  north. 

The  Indian  guide,  who  had  served  Clark  unwillingly, 
at  length  admitted  that  there  was  a  trail  leading  across 
the  mountains  far  up  to  the  northward. 

"We  will  go  north,"  said  Lewis. 

They  cached  under  the  ashes  of  their  camp  fire  such 
remaining  articles  as  they  could  leave  behind  them. 
They  had  now  a  band  of  fifty  horses.  Partly  mounted, 
mostly  on  foot,  their  half  wild  horses  burdened,  they 
set  out  once  more  under  the  guidance  of  an  old  Sho 
shone,  who  said  he  knew  the  way. 

Charbonneau  wanted  to  remain  with  the  Shoshones, 
and  to  keep  with  him  Sacajawea,  his  wife,  so  recently 
reunited  to  her  people. 

"No !"  said  Sacajawea.  "I  no  go  back — I  go  with 
the  white  chief  to  the  water  that  tastes  salt !"  And  it 
was  so  ordered. 

Their  course  lay  along  the  eastern  side  of  the  lofty 

278 


THE    MOUNTAINS 

Bitter  Root  Mountains.  The  going  was  rude  enough, 
since  no  trail  had  ever  been  here ;  but  mile  after  mile, 
day  after  day,  they  stumbled  through  to  some  point 
on  ahead  which  none  knew  except  the  guide.  They 
came  on  a  new  tribe  of  Indians — Flatheads,  who  were 
as  amazed  and  curious  as  the  Shoshones  had  been  at 
the  coming  of  these  white  men.  They  received  the 
explorers  as  friends — asked  them  to  tarry,  told  them 
how  dangerous  it  was  to  go  into  the  mountains. 

But  haste  was  the  order  of  the  day,  and  they  left 
the  Flatheads,  rejoicing  that  these  also  told  of  streams 
to  the  westward  up  wrhich  the  salmon  came.  They 
had  heard  of  white  men,  too,  to  the  west,  many  years 
before. 

Down  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Bitter  Root  River, 
with  splendid  mountains  on  either  side,  they  pressed  on, 
and  on  the  ninth  of  September,  1805,  they  stopped  at 
the  mouth  of  a  stream  coming  down  from  the  heights 
to  the  west.  Their  old  guide  pointed  up  this  valley. 

"There  is  a  trail,"  said  he,  "which  comes  across 
here.  The  Indians  come  to  reach  the  buffalo.  On  the 
farther  side  the  water  runs  toward  the  sunset." 

They  were  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  that  ancient 
trail,  later  called  the  Lolo  Trail,  known  immemorially 
to  the  tribes  on  both  sides  of  the  mountains.  Labo 
riously,  always  pressing  forward,  they  ascended  the 
eastern  slopes  of  the  great  range,  crossed  the  summit, 
found  the  clear  waters  on  the  west  side,  and  so  came 
to  the  Kooskooskie  or  Clearwater  River,  leading  to 
the  Snake.  And  always  the  natives  marveled  at  these 
white  men,  the  first  they  ever  had  seen. 

239 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

The  old  Indians  still  made  maps  on  the  sand  for 
them,  showing  them  how  they  would  come  to  the  great 
river  where  the  salmon  came.  They  were  now  among 
yet  another  people — the  Nez  Perces.  With  these  also 
they  smoked  and  counciled,  and  learned  that  it  would 
be  easy  for  boats  to  go  all  the  way  down  to  the  great 
river  which  ran  to  the  sea. 

"We  will  leave  our  horses  here/'  said  Lewis.  "We 
will  take  to  the  boats  once  more." 

So  Gass  and  Bratton  and  Shields  and  all  the  other 
artisans  fell  to  fashioning  dugouts  from  the  tall  pines 
and  cedars,  hewing  and  burning  and  shaping,  until  at 
length  they  had  transports  for  their  scanty  store  of 
goods.  By  the  first  week  of  October  they  were  at  the 
junction  of  their  river  with  the  Snake.  An  old  medi 
cine  man  of  the  Nez  Perces,  Twisted  Hair,  a  man  who 
also  could  make  maps,  had  drawn  them  charts  on  a 
white  skin  with  a  bit  of  charcoal.  And  on  ahead, 
mounted  runners  of  the  Indians  rushed  down  to  inform 
the  tribes  of  the  coming  of  these  strange  people. 

It  was  no  longer  an  exploration,  but  a  reception  for 
them  now.  Bands  of  red  men,  who  welcomed  them, 
had  heard  of  white  men  coming  up  from  the  sea. 
White  men  had  once  lived  by  the  Tim-Tim  water,  on 
the  great  river  of  the  salmon — so  they  had  been  told; 
but  never  had  any  living  Indian  heard  of  white  men 
coming  across  the  great  mountains  from  the  sunrise. 

"Will,"  said  Lewis,"  "it  is  done — we  are  safe  now ! 
We  shall  be  first  across  to  the  Columbia.  This — " 
he  shook  the  Nez  Perces'  scrawled  hide — "is  the  map 
of  a  new  world !" 

240 


CHAPTER  VIII 


WHERE  lately  had  been  gloom  and  despair 
there  now  reigned  joy  and  confidence.  With 
the  great  mountains  behind  them,  and  this 
new,  pleasant  and  gentle  land  all  around  them,  the 
spirits  of  the  men  rose  buoyantly. 

They  could  float  easily  down  the  strong  current  of 
the  great  Snake  River,  laboring  but  little,  if  at  all. 
They  made  long  hours  every  day,  and  by  the  middle  of 
autumn  they  saw  ahead  of  them  a  yet  grander  flood 
than  that  of  the  noble  river  which  was  bearing  them. 

At  last  they  had  found  the  Columbia!  They  had 
found  what  Mackenzie  never  found,  what  Fraser  was 
not  to  find — that  great  river,  now  to  be  taken  over 
with  every  right  of  double  discovery  by  these  messen 
gers  of  the  young  republic.  How  swelled  their  hearts, 
when  at  last  they  knew  this  truth,  unescapable,  incon 
trovertible!  It  was  theirs.  They  had  won! 

The  men  had  grown  reckless  now.  Cruzatte, 
Labiche,  Drouillard — all  the  adventurers — sang  as 
they  traveled,  gayer  and  more  gay  from  day  to  day. 

Always  the  landscape  had  fascinating  interest  for 
them  in  its  repeated  changes.  They  were  in  a  different 

241 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

world.  No  one  had  seen  the  mountains  which  they 
saw.  The  Rockies,  the  Bitter  Roots — these  they  had 
passed;  and  now  they  must  yet  pass  through  another 
range,  this  time  not  by  the  toilsome  process  of  foot 
or  horse  travel,  but  on  the  strong  flood  of  the  river. 
The  Columbia  had  made  a  trail  for  them  through  the 
Cascades. 

Down  the  stormy  rapids  they  plunged  exulting. 
Mount  Hood,  St.  Helen's,  Rainier,  Adams — all  the 
lofty  peaks  of  the  great  Cascades,  so  named  at  a  later 
date,  appeared  before  them,  around  them,  behind  them, 
as  they  swung  into  the  last  lap  of  their  wild  journey 
and  headed  down  toward  the  sea.  Cruzatte,  Labiche, 
Drouillard — all  you  others — time  now,  indeed,  for  you 
to  raise  the  song  of  the  old  voyageurs!  None  have 
come  so  far  as  you — your  paddles  are  wrinkling  new 
waters.  You  are  brave  men,  every  one,  and  yours  is 
the  reward  of  the  brave ! 

Soon,  so  said  the  Indians,  they  would  come  to  ships 
— canoes  with  trees  standing  in  them,  on  which  teepees 
were  hung. 

"Me,"  said  Cruzatte,  "I  never  in  my  whole  life  was 
seen  a  sheep !  I  will  be  glad  for  see  wan  now." 

But  they  found  no  ship  anywhere  in  the  lower  Co 
lumbia.  All  the  shores  were  silent,  deserted ;  no  vessel 
lay  at  anchor.  Before  them  lay  the  empty  river,  wide 
as  a  sea,  and  told  no  tales  of  what  had  been.  They 
were  alone,  in  the  third  year  out  from  home.  Thou 
sands  of  leagues  they  had  traveled,  and  must  travel 
back  again. 

Here  they  saw  many  gulls.  As  to  Columbus  these 
242 


TRAIL'S    END 

birds  had  meant  land,  to  our  discoverers  they  meant 
the  sea.  Forty  miles  below  the  last  village  they  saw  it 
— rolling  in  solemn,  white-topped  waves  beyond  the 
bar. 

Every  paddle  ceased  at  its  work,  and  the  boats  lay 
tossing  on  the  incoming  waves.  There  was  the  end  of 
the  great  trail.  Yonder  lay  the  Pacific! 

Meriwether  Lewis  turned  and  looked  into  the  eyes 
of  William  Clark,  who  sat  at  the  bow  of  the  next 
canoe.  Each  friend  nodded  to  the  other.  Neither 
spoke.  The  lips  of  both  were  tight. 

"The  big  flag,  Sergeant  Gass!"  said  Lewis. 

They  turned  ashore.  There  had  been  four  mess 
fires  at  each  encampment  thus  far — those  of  the  three 
sergeants  and  that  of  the  officers;  but  now,  as  they 
huddled  on  the  wet  beach  on  which  they  disembarked, 
the  officers  ordered  the  men  to  build  but  one  fire,  and 
that  a  large  one.  Grouped  about  this  they  all  stood, 
ragged,  soaked,  gaunt,  unkempt,  yet  the  happiest  com 
pany  of  adventurers  that  ever  followed  a  long  trail  to 
its  end. 

"Men/'  said  Meriwether  Lewis  at  length,  "we  have 
now  arrived  at  the  end  of  our  journey.  In  my  belief 
there  has  never  been  a  party  more  loyal  to  the  purpose 
on  which  it  has  been  engaged.  Without  your  strength 
and  courage  we  could  not  have  reached  the  sea.  It  is 
my  wish  to  thank  you  for  Mr.  Jefferson,  the  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States,  who  sent  us  here.  If  at  any 
time  one  of  you  has  been  disposed  to  doubt,  or  to 
resent  conditions  which  necessarily  were  imposed,  let 
all  that  be  forgotten.  Wre  have  done  our  work.  Here 

243 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

we  must  pass  the  winter.     In  the  spring  we  will  make 
quick  time  homeward." 

They  gave  him  three  cheers,  and  three  for  Captain 
Clark.  York  gave  expression  to  his  own  emotions  by 
walking  about  the  beach  on  his  hands. 

"And  the  confounded  ships  are  all  gone  back  to 
sea!"  grumbled  Patrick  Gass.  "I've  been  achin'  for 
days  to  git  here,  in  the  hope  of  foindin'  some  sailor  man 
I'd  loike  to  thrash — and  here  is  no  one  at  all,  at  all !" 

"Will,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis  after  a  time,  pull 
ing  out  the  inevitable  map,  "I  wonder  where  it  was 
that  Alexander  Mackenzie  struck  the  Pacific  twelve 
years  ago !  It  must  have  been  far  north  of  here.  We 
have  come  around  forty-seven  degrees  of  longitude 
west  from  Washington,  and  something  like  nine  degrees 
north  unite  with  France  or  Spain  on  the  south  to 
known  exploration  by  land.  We  have  driven  the 
wedge  home!  Never  again  can  Great  Britain  on  the 
north  unite  with  France  or  Spain  on  the  south  to 
threaten  our  western  frontier.  If  they  dispute  the 
title  we  purchased  from  Napoleon,  they  can  never  deny 
our  claim  by  right  of  discovery.  This,  I  say,  solidifies 
our  republic !  We  have  done  the  work  given  us  to  do." 

"Yes,"  grinned  William  Clark,  standing  on  one  leg 
and  warming  his  wet  moccasin  sole  at  the  fire ;  "and  I 
wonder  where  that  other  gentleman,  Mr.  Simon 
Fraser,  is  just  now !" 

They  could  not  know  that  Fraser,  the  trader  who 
was  their  rival  in  the  great  race  to  the  Pacific,  was  at 
that  time  snow-bound  in  the  Rockies  more  than  one 
thousand  miles  north  of  them. 

244 


TRAIL'S    END 

Three  years  after  the  time  when  this  little  band  of 
adventurers  stood  in  the  rain  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Columbia,  Fraser,  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  named 
after  him,  heard  of  white  men  who  had  come  to  the 
ocean  somewhere  far  to  the  south.  Word  had  passed 
up  the  coast,  among  the  native  tribes,  of  men  who  had 
white  skins,  and  who  had  with  them  a  black  man  with 
curly  hair. 

"That's  Lewis  and  Clark!"  said  Simon  Fraser. 
"They  were  at  the  Mandan  villages.  We  are  beaten!" 

So  now  the  largest  flag  left  to  Lewis  and  Clark 
floated  by  the  side  of  a  single  fire  on  the  wet  beach  on 
the  north  shore  of  the  Columbia.  Here  a  rude  bivouac 
was  pitched,  while  the  leaders  finished  their  first  hasty 
investiagtion  along  the  beach. 

"There  is  little  to  attract  us  here/'  said  William 
Clark.  "On  the  south  shore  there  is  better  shelter  for 
qur  winter  camp."  So  they  headed  their  little  boats 
across  the  wide  flood  of  the  Columbia. 

It  was  now  December  of  the  year  1805.  Fort  Clat- 
sop,  as  they  called  their  new  stockade,  was  soon  in 
process  of  erection — seven  splendid  cabins,  built  of  the 
best- working  wood  these  men  ever  had  seen;  a  tall 
stockade  with  a  gate,  such  as  their  forefathers  had 
always  built  in  any  hostile  country. 

While  some  worked,  others  hunted,  finding  the  elk 
abundant.  More  than  one  hundred  elk  and  many  deer 
were  killed.  And  having  nothing  better,  they  now 
set  to  work  to  tan  the  hides  of  elk  and  deer,  and  to 
make  new  clothing.  As  to  civilized  equipment  they 
had  little  left.  About  four  hundred  pairs  of  moc- 

245 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

casins  they  made  that  winter,   Sacajawea  presiding 
over  the  moccasin-boards,  and  teaching  the  men  to  sew. 

Clark,  the  indefatigable,  a  natural  geographer,  com 
pleted  the  remarkable  series  of  maps  which  so  fully 
established  the  accuracy  of  their  observations  and  the 
usefulness  of  the  voyage  across  the  continent.  Lewis 
kept  up  his  records  and  extended  his  journals.  All 
were  busy,  all  happier  than  they  had  been  since  their 
departure  from  the  East. 

Christmas  was  once  more  celebrated  to  the  tune  of 
the  Frenchman's  fiddle.  Came  New  Year's  Day  also; 
and  by  that  time  the  stockade  was  finished,  the  gate 
was  up,  the  men  were  ready  for  any  fortune  which 
might  occur. 

"Pretty  soon,  by  and  by,"  said  the  voyageurs,  "we 
will  run  on  the  river  for  home  once  more !" 

Even  Sacajawea,  having  fulfilled  her  great  ambition 
of  looking  out  over  the  sea  which  tasted  of  salt,  said 
that  she,  too,  would  be  content  to  go  back  to  her  peo- 
pie. 

"We  must  leave  a  record,  Will,"  said  Lewis  one 
day,  looking  up  from  his  papers.  "We  must  take  no 
chances  of  the  results  of  our  exploration  not  reaching 
Washington.  Should  we  be  lost  among  the  tribes  east 
of  here,  perhaps  some  ship  may  take  that  word  to  Mr. 
Jefferson." 

So  now,  between  them,  they  formulated  that  famous 
announcement  to  the  world,  which,  one  year  after  their 
safe  arrival  home  overland,  the  ships  brought  around 
by  Cape  Horn,  to  advise  the  world  that  a  transconti 
nental  path  had  been  blazed : 

246 


TRAIL'S    END 

The  object  oi  this  list  is  that  through  the  medium  of  some 
civilized  person  who  may  see  the  same,  it  may  be  made  known 
to  the  world  that  the  party  consisting  of  the  persons  whose 
names  are  hereunto  annexed,  and  who  were  sent  out  by  the 
government  of  the  United  States  to  explore  the  interior  of 
the  continent  of  North  America,  did  penetrate  the  same  by 
the  way  of  the  Missouri  and  Columbia  Rivers,  to  the  dis 
charge  of  the  latter  into  the  Pacific  Ocean,  where  they  ar 
rived  on  the  I4th  day  of  November,  1805,  and  departed  the 
23rd  day  of  March,  1806,  on  their  return  trip  to  the  United 
States  by  the  same  route  by  which  they  had  come  out. 

This,  so  soon  as  they  knew  their  starting  date,  they 
signed,  each  of  them,  and  copies  were  made  for  post 
ing  here  and  there  in  such  places  as  naturally  would  be 
discovered  by  any  mariners  coming  in.  And  today 
we — who  can  glibly  list  the  names  of  the  multimil 
lionaires  of  America — cannot  tell  the  names  of  more 
than  two  of  those  thirty-one  men,  each  of  whom  should 
be  an  immortal. 

"Boats  now,  Will!"  said  Meriwether  Lewis.  "We 
must  have  boats  against  our  start  in  the  spring.  These 
canoes  which  brought  us  down  from  the  Kooskooskie 
were  well  enough  in  their  way,  but  will  not  serve  for 
the  upstream  journey.  Again  we  must  lift  up  the 
entire  party  against  the  current  of  a  great  river.  Get 
some  of  the  Indians'  seagoing  canoes,  Will — their  lines 
are  easier  than  those  of  our  dugouts." 

Need  was  for  skilful  trading  now  on  the  part  of 
William  Clark,  for,  eager  as  the  natives  were  for  the 
white  men's  goods,  scant  store  of  them  remained.  All 
the  fishhooks  were  gone,  most  of  the  beads,  practically 
all  the  hats  and  coats  which  once  had  served  so  well. 
When  at  length  Clark  announced  that  he  had  secured 
17  247 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

a  fine  Chinook  canoe,  there  remained  for  all  the  re 
turn  voyage,  thousands  of  miles  among  the  Indians, 
only  a  half-dozen  blankets,  a  few  little  trinkets,  a  hat, 
and  a  uniform  coat. 

"You  could  tie  up  all  the  rest  in  a  couple  of  hand 
kerchiefs,"  said  William  Clark,  laughing.  "But  such 
as  it  is,  it  must  last  us  back  to  St.  Louis — or  at  least 
to  our  caches  on  the  Missouri." 

"How  is  your  salt,  Will?"  asked  Lewis.  "And  your 
powder  ?" 

"In  fine  shape,"  was  the  reply.  "We  have  put  the 
new-made  salt  in  some  of  the  empty  canisters.  There 
is  plenty  of  powder  and  lead  left,  and  we  can  pick  up 
more  as  we  reach  our  caches  going  eastward.  With 
what  dried  meat  we  can  lay  up  from  the  elk  here,  we 
ought  to  make  a  good  start." 

Thus  they  planned,  these  two  extraordinary  young 
men,  facing  a  transcontinental  journey  of  four  thou 
sand  miles,  with  no  better  equipment  than  the  rifles 
which  had  served  them  on  their  way  out.  As  for  their 
followers,  all  the  discontent  and  doubt  had  given  way 
to  an  implicit  faith.  All  seemed  well  fed  and  content, 
save  one — the  man  on  whose  shoulders  had  rested  the 
gravest  responsibility,  the  man  in  whose  soul  had  been 
born  the  vision  of  this  very  scene. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Merne?"  grumbled 
his  more  buoyant  companion.  "Are  you  still  carry 
ing  all  the  weight  of  the  entire  world?" 

Lewis  turned  upon  his  friend  with  the  same  patient 
smile.  Both  were  conscious  that  between  them  there 
was  growing  a  thin,  impermeable  veil — something 

248 


TRAIL'S    END 

mysterious,  the  only  barrier  which  ever  had  separated 
these  two  loyal  souls. 

Sacajawea,  the  Indian  girl,  was  as  keen-eyed  as  the 
red-headed  chief.  'In  the  new  boldness  that  she  had 
learned  in  her  position  as  general  pet  of  the  expedi 
tion,  she  would  sometimes  talk  to  the  chief  reproach 
fully. 

"Captin,"  she  said  one  day,  "what  for  you  no  laff? 
What  for  you  no  eat?  What  for  you  all  time  think, 
think,  think?  See,"  she  extended  a  hand — "I  make 
you  some  more  moccasin.  I  got  picture  your  foot — 
these  fit  plenty  good." 

"Thank  you,  Bird  Woman/'  said  Lewis,  rousing 
himself.  "Without  you  we  would  not  be  here  today. 
What  can  I  give  you  in  return  for  all  that — in  return 
for  these?" 

He  took  the  pair  of  handsomely  stitched  moccasins, 
dangling  them  by  the  strings  over  one  finger ;  but  even 
as  he  did  so,  the  old  brooding  melancholy  fell  upon 
him  once  more.  He  sat,  forgetful  of  the  girl's  pres 
ence,  staring  moodily  at  the  fire.  Sacajawea,  griev 
ing  like  a  little  child,  stole  silently  away. 

Why  did  Meriwether  Lewis  never  laugh?  Why 
did  he  always  think,  think,  think?  Why  had  there 
grown  between  him  and  his  friend  that  thin,  indefinable 
reserve  ? 

He  was  hungry — hungry  for  another  message  out 
of  the  sky — another  gift  of  manna  in  the  wilderness. 
Who  had  brought  those  mysterious  letters  ?  Whoever 
he  was,  why  did  he  not  bring  another  ?  Were  they  all 
done — should  he  never  hear  from  her  again  ? 

249 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  SUMMONS 

THE  winter  was  wearing-  away.     The  wild  fowl 
were  passing-  northward,  landward.     The  game 
had  changed  its  haunts.     March  was  coming, 
the  month  between  the  seasons  for  the  tribes,  the  time 
of  want,  the  leanest  period  of  the  year. 

Meriwether  Lewis,  alone  one  morning  in  the  com 
fortable  cabin  which  served  as  a  house  for  himself 
and  his  friend,  sat  pondering-  on  these  things,  as  was 
his  wont.  His  little  Indian  dog-,  always  his  steady 
companion,  had  taken  its  place  on  the  top  of  the  flatted 
stump  which  served  as  a  desk,  near  the  maps  and 
papers  which  Lewis  had  pushed  away.  Here  the  small 
creature  sat,  motionless,  mute,  its  eyes  fixed  adoringly 
upon  its  master. 

The  captain  did  not  notice  it.  He  did  not  at  first 
hear  the  rap  on  the  door,  nor  the  footfall  of  the  man 
who  entered  inquiringly. 

" Yes,  Sergeant  Ordway  ?"  said  he  presently,  looking 
up. 

Ordway  saluted. 

"Something  for  you,  sir.     It  seems  to  be  a  letter." 

"A  letter!     How  could  that  be?" 
250 


THE    SUMMONS 

"That  is  the  puzzle,  sir,"  said  Ordway,  extending  a 
folded  and  sealed  bit  of  paper.  "We  do  not  know 
how  it  came.  Charbonneau's  wife,  the  Indian  woman, 
found  it  in  the  baby's  hammock  just  now.  She 
brought  it  to  me,  and  I  saw  it  was  addressed  to  you. 
It  must  have  been  overlooked  by  you  some  time." 

"Possibly — possibly,"  said  Lewis.  His  face  was 
growing  pale.  "That  is  all,  I  think,  Sergeant,"  he 
added. 

Now  alone,  he  turned  toward  the  letter,  which  lay 
upon  the  table.  His  face  lighted  with  a  wondrous 
smile,  though  none  might  see  it  save  the  little  dog 
which  watched  his  every  movement.  For  Meriwether 
Lewis  had  received  once  more  the  thing  for  which 
every  fiber  of  his  being  clamored ! 

He  knew,  without  one  look,  that  the  number 
scratched  in  the  wax  of  the  seal  would  be  the  figure 
"4."  He  opened  the  letter  slowly.  There  fell  from 
it  a  square  of  stiff,  white  paper — all  white,  he  thought, 
until  he  turned  it  over.  Then  he  saw  it  looking  up  at 
him — her  face  indeed! 

It  was  a  little  silhouette  in  black,  done  in  that  day 
before  the  camera,  when  small  portraits  were  otherwise 
well-nigh  impossible.  The  artist,  skilled  as  were 
many  in  this  curious  form  of  portraiture,  had  done  his 
work  well.  Lewis  gazed  with  a  sudden  leap  of  his 
pulses  upon  the  features  outlined  before  him — the  pro 
file  so  cleanly  cut  and  lofty — the  hair  low  over  the 
forehead,  the  chin  round  and  firm,  yet  delicate  and 
womanly  withal.  Here  even  the  long  lashes  of  her 
eyes  were  visible,  just  as  in  life.  Yes,  it  was  her  face  1 

251 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

And  now  he  read  the  letter,  which  covered  many 
closely  written  sheets : 

Meriwether  Lewis,  I  said  to  you  that  my  face  should  come 
to  you,  wherever  you  might  be.  This  time  it  has  been  long 
— I  cannot  tell  how  long.  That  is  for  my  messenger  to  de 
termine,  not  for  you  or  me.  But  that  it  has  been  long  I  shall 
know,  else  long  since  there  would  have  been  no  need  of  my 
adding  this  letter  to  the  others. 

Not  one  of  them  has  served  to  bring  you  back !  Since  you 
now  have  this  one,  let  it  advise  you  that  she  who  wrote  it  is 
grieved  that  you  gaze  upon  this  little  portrait,  and  not  upon 
the  face  of  her  whom  it  represents.  'Tis  a  monstrous  good 
likeness,  they  tell  me;  but  would  you  not  rather  it  were 
myself? 

Where  are  you  ?  I  cannot  tell.  What  adversities  have  been 
yours?  I  cannot  tell  that.  You  cannot  know  what  grief 
you  have  caused  by  your  long  absence.  You  cannot  know 
how  many  hearts  you  have  made  sad.  You  cannot  know  how 
you  have  delayed — destroyed — plans  made  for  you.  We  are 
in  ignorance,  each  of  the  other,  now.  I  do  not  know  where 
you  are — you  do  not  know  where  I  may  be.  A  great  wall 
arises  between  us.  A  great  guli  is  fixed.  We  cannot  touch 
hands  across  it. 

As  I  know,  this  will  not  move  you;  but  I  cannot  restrain 
this  reproach.  I  cannot  help  telling  you  that  you  have  made 
me  suffer  by  your  silence,  by  your  absence.  Do  I  make  you 
suffer  by  looking  at  you  with  reproach  in  my  eyes — as  I  do 
now? 

You  have  forgotten  your  childhood  friend !  I  may  be 
dead  as  you  read — would  you  care?  I  have  been  in  need — 
yet  you  have  not  come  to  comfort  me  and  to  dry  my  tears. 

Figure  to  yourself  what  has  happened  to  all  my  plans  and 
dreams  for  you.  Even  I  cannot  tell  of  that,  because,  as  I 
write,  it  all  lies  in  the  future — that  future  which  is  the  pres 
ent  for  you  as  you  sit  reading  this.  All  I  know  is  that  as 
you  read  it  my  appeal  has  failed. 

I  can  but  guess  how  or  where  these  presents  may  find  you ; 
for  how  shall  I  know  how  wise  or  how  faithful  my  mes 
senger  has  been?  Are  you  on  the  prairie  still,  Meriwether 

252 


'Her  face  indeed !" 


THE    SUMMONS 

Lewis?  Is  it  winter?  Does  the  snow  lie  deep?  Are  the 
winds  keen  and  biting?  Are  you  well  fed?  Are  you  warm? 
Have  you  bodily  comforts?  Have  you  physical  well-being? 

How  can  I  answer  all  these  questions?  Yet  they  come  to 
my  mind  as  I  write. 

Are  you  in  the  mountains?  Were  there,  after  all,  those 
great  Stony  Mountains  of  which  men  told  fables?  Have 
you  found  the  great  unicorn  or  the  mammoth  or  the  masta- 
don  which  Mr.  Jefferson  said  you  were  likely  to  meet?  Have 
you  found  the  dinosaur  or  the  dragon  or  the  great  serpents 
of  a  foregone  day  ?  Suppose  you  have.  What  do  they  weigh 
with  me — with  you  ?  Are  they  so  much  to  you  as  you  thought 
they  would  be?  Is  the  taste  of  all  your  triumphs  so  sweet 
as  you  have  dreamed,  Meriwether  Lewis? 

Have  you  grown  savage,  my  friend — have  you  come  to  be 
just  a  man  like  the  others?  Tell  me — no,  I  will  not  ask  you ! 
If  I  thought  you  could  descend  to  the  lawless  standard  of  the 
wilderness — but  no,  I  cannot  think  of  that!  In  any  case, 
'tis  too  late  now.  You  have  not  come  back  to  me. 

You  see,  I  am  writing  not  so  much  to  implore  you  to  re 
turn  as  to  reproach  you  for  not  returning.  By  the  time  this 
reaches  you,  it  will  be  too  late  in  our  plans.  We  could  not 
afford  to  wait  months — three  months,  "four,  six — has  it  been 
so  long  as  that  since  you  leit  us?  If  so,  it  is  too  late  now. 
If  we  have  failed,  why  did  we  fail? 

They  told  me — my  father  and  his  friends — and  I  told  you 
plainly,  that  if  your  expedition  went  on,  then  our  plan  must 
fail.  But  now  I  must  presume  that  you  have  succeeded,  or 
by  this  time  are  beyond  the  'feeling  of  either  success  or  fail 
ure.  If  you  have  failed,  it  is  too  late  for  us  to  succeed. 
If  you  have  succeeded,  then  certainly  we  have  failed.  As  you 
read  this,  you  may  be  doing  so  with  hope.  I,  who  wrote  it, 
will  be  sitting  in  despair. 

Meriwether  Lewis,  come  back  to  me,  even  so !  It  will  be 
too  late  for  you  to  aid  me.  You  will  have  ruined  all  our 
hopes.  But  yours  still  will  be  the  task — the  duty — to  look 
me  in  the  face  and  say  whether  you  owe  aught  to  me.  Can 
I  forgive  you?  Why,  yes,  I  could  never  do  aught  else  than 
forgive.  No  matter  what  you  did,  I  fear  I  should  forgive 
you.  Because,  after  all,  my  own  wish  in  all  this 

253 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Ah !  let  me  write  slowly  here,  and  think  very  carefully ! 

My  greatest  wish  in  this,  greater  than  any  ambition  I  had 
for  myself  or  my  family — has  been  for  you!  See,  I  am 
writing  those  words — would  I  dare  tell  them  to  any  other 
man  in  all  the  world?  Nay,  surely  not.  But  that  I  trust 
you,  the  very  writing  itself  is  proof.  And  I  write  this  to 
you,  who  never  can  be  to  me  what  man  must  be  to  woman 
if  either  is  to  be  happy — the  man  to  whom  I  can  never  be 
what  woman  must  be  if  she  is  to  mean  all  to  any  man. 
Apart  forever!  We  are  estranged  by  circumstance,  sun 
dered  by  that,  i'f  you  please,  weak  as  those  words  seem. 
And  yet  something  takes  your  soul  to  mine.  Does  something 
take  mine  to  you,  across  all  the  wilderness,  across  all  the 
miles,  across  all  the  long  and  bitter  months? 

I  say  to  you  once  more  that  in  all  this  my  demand  upon 
you  has  not  been  for  myself,  nor  wholly  for  my  father.  Let 
me  be  careful  here. 

This  impassable  gulf  is  fixed  between  us  for  all  our  lives. 
Neither  of  us  may  cross  it.  But  I  have  been  desirous  to  see 
you  stand  among  men,  where  you  belong.  Do  not  ask  me 
why  I  wished  that — you  must  never  ask  me.  I  am  Mrs. 
Alston,  even  as  I  write. 

And  as  for  you  ?  Are  you  in  rags  as  you  read  this  ?  Are 
you  cold  and  hungry  ?  Are  you  alone,  alooi ,  deserted,  perhaps 
suffering,  with  none  to  comfort  you  ?  I  cannot  aid  you.  Nay, 
I  shall  punish  you  once  more,  and  say  that  it  was  your  de 
sire — that  you  brought  this  on  yourself — that  you  would  have 
it  thus,  in  spite  of  all  my  intervention  for  you. 

Moreover,  you  shall  say  to  yourself  always: 

"She  asked  and  I  refused  her !" 

Nay,  nay !  I  shall  not  be  so  cruel.  I  shall  not  say  that  at 
all.  Let  me  mark  that  out !  Because,  if  I  write  that,  you 
will  think  I  wish  to  hurt  you.  And,  my  'friend,  let  me  admit 
the  truth — the  truth  I  ought  not  to  lay  upon  you  as  any 
secret — /  could  never  wish  to  hurt  you. 

They  say  that  men  'far  away  in  the  wilderness  sometimes 
long  for  the  sight  of  the  face  of  a  woman.  See,  now  you 
have  that !  I  look  up  at  you !  What  is  your  impulse  ?  I  am 
alone  with  you — I  am  in  your  hands — treat  me,  therefore, 
with  honor,  I  pray  you ! 

254 


THE    SUMMONS 

You  must  not  raise  my  face  to  yours,  must  not  bend  yours 
to  mine.  See  now,  measure  my  trust  in  you,  Meriwether 
Lewis !  Estimate  the  great  confidence  I  hold  in  you  as  a 
gentleman  because — do  you  not  see? — a  gentleman  does  not 
kiss  the  woman  whom  he  has  at  a  disadvantage — the  woman 
who  can  never  be  his,  who  is  another's.  Is  it  not  true? 

Happiness  is  not  for  us.  We  are  so  far  apart.  I  am  sad. 
Good  night.  Meriwether  Lewis !  I,  too,  have  your  picture  by 
me — the  one  you  gave  me  years  ago  when  I  was  in  Virginia. 
And  it — good  night,  Mr.  Meriwether  Lewis ! 

Place  me  apart — far  'from  you  in  the  room.  Let  my  face 
not  look  at  you  direct.  But  in  your  heart — your  hard  heart 
of  a  man,  intent  on  dreams,  forgetful  of  all  else — please, 
please  let  there  linger  some  small  memory  of  her  who  dares 
to  write  these  lines — and  who  hopes  that  you  never  may  see 
them! 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  ABYSS 

THE  little  Indian  dog  sat  on  the  table,  silent, 
motionless,  looking  at  its  master,  whose  head 
was  bowed  upon  his  arms.  Now  and  then  it 
had  stooped  as  if  it  would  have  looked  in  his  face,  but 
dared  not,  if  for  very  excess  of  love.  It  turned  an 
inquiring  eye  to  the  door,  which,  after  a  time,  opened. 

William  Clark,  silent,  stood  once  more  at  the  side 
of  his  friend.  He  looked  on  the  sad  and  haggard  face 
which  was  turned  toward  him,  and  fell  back.  His 
eye  caught  sight  of  the  folded  paper  crushed  between 
Lewis's  fingers.  He  asked  no  questions,  but  he  knew. 

"Enough!"  broke  out  Meriwether  Lewis  hoarsely. 
"No  more  of  this — we  must  be  gone!  Are  the  men 
ready?  Why  do  we  delay?  Why  are  we  not  away 
for  the  journey  home?" 

So  impatient,  so  incoherent,  did  his  speech  seem  that 
for  a  time  Clark  almost  feared  lest  his  friend's  reason 
might  have  been  affected.  But  he  only  stood  looking 
at  Lewis,  ready  to  be  of  such  aid  as  might  be. 

"In  two  hours,  Merne,"  said  he,  "we  will  be  on  our 
way." 

It  was  now  near  the  end  of  March.  They  dated  and 
256 


THE    ABYSS 

posted  up  their  bulletins.  They  had  done  their  task. 
They  had  found  the  great  river,  they  had  found  the 
sea,  they  had  mapped  the  way  across  the  new  con 
tinent.  Their  glorious  work  had  gloriously  been 
done. 

Such  was  their  joy  at  starting  home  again,  the  boat 
men  disregarded  the  down-coming  current  of  the  great 
waters — they  sang  at  the  paddles,  jested.  Only  their 
leader  was  silent  and  unsmiling,  and  he  drove  them 
hard.  Short  commons  they  knew  often  enough  before 
they  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Walla  Walla,  where 
they  found  friendly  Indians  who  gave  them  horse 
meat — which  seemed  exceedingly  good  food. 

The  Nez  Perces,  whose  country  was  reached  next 
beyond  the  Walla  Wallas,  offered  guides  across  the 
Bitter  Roots,  but  now  the  snow  lay  deep,  the  horses 
could  not  travel.  For  weeks  they  lay  in  camp  on  the 
Kooskooskie,  eating  horse  meat  as  the  Indians  then 
were  doing,  waiting,  fretting. 

It  was  the  middle  of  June  before  they  made  the 
effort  to  pass  the  Bitter  Roots.  Sixty  horses  they  had 
now,  with  abundance  of  jerked  horse  meat,  and  a 
half-dozen  Nez  Perces  guides.  By  the  third  of  July — 
just  three  years  from  the  date  of  the  Louisiana  Pur 
chase  as  it  was  made  known  at  Mr.  Jefferson's  sim 
plicity  dinner — they  were  across  the  Bitter  Roots  once 
more,  in  the  pleasant  valleys  of  the  eastern  slope. 

"That  way,"  said  Sacajawea,  pointing,  "big  falls!" 

She  meant  the  short  cut  across  the  string  of  the  bow, 
which  would  lead  over  the  Continental  Divide  direct 
to  the  Great  Falls  of  the  Missouri.  Both  the  leaders 

257 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

had  pondered  over  this  short  cut,  which  the  Nez  Perces 
knew  well. 

"We  must  part,  Will,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis.  "It 
is  our  duty  to  learn  all  we  can  of  this  wonderful  coun 
try.  I  will  take  the  Indian  trail  straight  across.  Do 
you  go  on  down  the  way  we  came.  Pick  up  our 
caches  above  the  three  forks  of  the  Missouri,  and  then 
cross  over  the  mountains  to  the  Yellowstone.  Make 
boats  there,  and  come  on  do\vn  to  the  mouth  of  that 
river.  You  should  precede  me  there,  perhaps,  by  some 
days.  Wait  then  until  I  come." 

With  little  more  ado  these  self-reliant  men  parted  in 
the  middle  of  the  vast  mountain  wilderness.  They 
planned  a  later  junction  of  their  two  parties  at  the 
mouth  of  a  river  which  then  was  less  known  than  the 
Columbia  had  been,  through  a  pass  which  none  of 
them  had  ever  seen. 

Lewis  had  with  him  nine  men,  among  them  Sergeant 
Gass,  the  two  Fields  boys,  Drouillard  and  Cruzatte, 
the  voyageurs.  Sacajawea,  in  spite  of  her  protest, 
remained  with  the  Clark  party,  where  her  wonderful 
knowledge  of  the  country  again  proved  invaluable. 
This  band  advanced  directly  to  the  southward  by  easy 
and  pleasant  daily  stages. 

"That  way  short  path  over  mountains,"  said  Saca 
jawea  at  length,  at  one  point  of  their  journey. 

She  pointed  out  the  Big  Hole  Trail  and  what  was 
later  known  as  Clark's  Pass  over  the  Continental  Di 
vide.  They  came  to  a  new  country,  a  beautiful  valley 
where  the  grass  was  good ;  but  Sacajawea  still  pointed 
onward. 

258 


THE    ABYSS 

"That  way,"  said  she,  "find  boat,  find  cache!" 

She  showed  them  another  gap  in  the  hills,  as  yet 
unknown;  and  so  led  them  out  by  a  short  cut  directly 
to  the  caches  on  the  Jefferson! 

But  they  could  not  tarry  long.  Boots  and  saddles 
again,  pole  and  paddle  also,  for  now  some  of  the  men 
must  take  to  the  boats  while  others  brought  on  the 
horses.  At  the  Three  Forks  rendezvous  they  made 
yet  other  changes,  for  here  the  boats  must  be  left. 
Captain  Clark  must  cross  the  mountain  range  to  the 
eastward  to  find  the  Yellowstone,  of  which  the  Indian 
girl  had  told  him.  Yonder,  she  said,  not  quite  a  full 
day's  march  through  a  notch  in  the  lofty  mountains, 
they  would  come  to  the  river,  which  ran  off  to  the 
east. 

Not  one  of  them  had  ever  heard  of  that  gap  in  the 
hills;  there  was  no  one  to  guide  them  through  it  ex 
cept  the  Indian  girl,  whose  memory  had  hitherto  been 
so  positive  and  so  trustworthy.  They  trusted  her  im 
plicitly. 

"That  way!"  she  said. 

Always  she  pointed  on  ahead  confidently;  and  al 
ways  she  was  right.  She  was  laying  out  the  course  of 
a  railroad  which  one  day  should  come  up  the  Yellow 
stone  and  cross  here  to  the  Missouri. 

They  found  it  to  be  no  more  than  eighteen  or  twenty 
miles,  Sacajawea's  extraordinary  short  cut  between 
the  Missouri  and  the  Yellowstone.  They  struck  the 
latter  river  below  the  mouth  of  its  great  canon,  found 
good  timber,  and  soon  were  busy  felling  great  cotton- 
woods  to  make  dugout  canoes.  Two  of  these,  some, 

259 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

thirty  feet  in  length,  when  lashed  side  by  side,  served 
to  carry  all  their  goods  and  some  of  their  party.  The 
rest — Pryor,  Shannon,  Hall  and  one  or  two  others — 
were  to  come  on  down  with  the  horses. 

The  mounted  men  did  well  enough  until  one  night 
the  Crows  stole  all  their  horses,  and  left  them  on  foot 
in  the  middle  of  the  wilderness.  Not  daunted,  they 
built  themselves  boats  of  hull  hide,  as  they  had  seen 
Indians  do,  and  soon  they  followed  on  down  the  river, 
they  could  not  tell  how  far,  to  the  rear  of  the  main 
boat  party.  With  the  marvelous  good  fortune  which 
attended  the  entire  expedition,  they  had  no  accident; 
and  in  time  they  met  the  other  explorers  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Yellowstone,  after  traveling-  nine  hundred  miles 
on  a  separate  voyage  of  original  discovery ! 

It  was  on  the  eighth  of  August  that  the  last  of 
Clark's  boats  arrived  at  the  Yellowstone  rendezvous. 
His  men  felt  now  as  if  they  were  almost  at  home.  The 
Mandan  villages  were  not  far  below.  As  soon  as  Cap 
tain  Lewis  should  come,  they  would  be  on  their 
way,  rejoicing.  Patient,  hardy,  uncomplaining,  they 
did  not  know  that  they  were  heroes. 

What  of  Lewis,  then  gone  so  long?  He  and  his 
men  were  engaged  in  the  yet  more  dangerous  under 
taking  of  exploring  the  country  of  the  dreaded  Black- 
feet,  known  to  bear  arms  obtained  from  the  northern 
traders.  They  reached  the  portage  of  the  Great  Falls 
without  difficulty,  and  eagerly  examined  the  caches 
which  they  had  left  there.  Now  they  were  to  divide 
their  party. 

"Sergeant  Gass,"  said  Captain  Lewis,  "I  am  going 
260 


THE    ABYSS 

to  leave  you  here.  You  will  get  the  baggage  and  the 
boats  below  the  falls,  and  take  passage  on  down  the 
river.  Six  of  you  can  attend  to  that.  I  shall  take 
Drouillard  and  the  Fields  boys  with  me,  and  strike  off 
toward  the  north  and  east,  where  I  fancy  I  shall  find 
the  upper  portion  of  Maria's  River.  When  you  come 
to  the  mouth  of  that  river — which  you  will  remember 
some  of  you  held  to  be  the  real  Missouri — you  will  go 
into  camp  and  wait  for  us.  You  will  remain  there 
until  the  first  day  of  September.  If  by  that  time  we 
have  not  returned,  you  will  pass  on  down  the  Missouri 
to  Captain  Clark's  camp,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Yellow 
stone,  and  go  home  with  him.  By  that  time  it  will 
have  become  evident  that  we  shall  not  return.  I  plan 
to  meet  you  at  the  mouth  of  Maria's  River  somewhere 
about  the  beginning  of  August." 

They  parted,  and  it  was  almost  by  a  miracle  that 
they  ever  met  again;  for  now  the  perils  of  the  wilder 
ness  asserted  themselves  even  against  the  marvelous 
good  fortune  which  had  thus  far  attended  them. 

Hitherto,  practically  all  the  tribes  met  had  been 
friendly,  but  now  they  were  in  the  country  of  the 
dreaded  Blackfeet,  who  by  instinct  and  training  were 
hostile  to  all  whites  coming  in  from  the  south  and  east. 
A  party  of  these  warriors  was  met  on  the  second  day 
of  their  northbound  journey  from  the  Missouri  River. 
Lewis  gave  the  Indians  such  presents  as  he  could,  and, 
as  was  his  custom,  told  them  of  his  purpose  in  travel 
ing  through  the  country.  He  showed  no  fear  of  them, 
although  he  saw  his  own  men  outnumbered  ten  to  one. 
The  two  parties,  the  little  band  of  white  men  and  the 

261 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

far  more  numerous  band  of  Blackfeet,  lay  down  to 
sleep  that  night  in  company. 

But  the  Blackfeet  were  unable  to  resist  the  tempta 
tion  to  attain  sudden  wealth  by  seizing  the  horses  and 
guns  of  these  strangers.  Toward  dawn  Lewis  him 
self,  confident  in  the  integrity  of  his  guests,  and  dozing 
for  a  time,  felt  the  corner  of  his  robe  pulled,  felt  some 
thing  spring  on  his  face,  heard  a  noise.  His  little  dog 
was  barking  loudly,  excitedly. 

He  was  more  fully  awakened  by  the  sound  of  a 
shout,  and  then  by  a  shot.  Springing  from  his  robes, 
he  saw  Drouillard  and  both  of  the  Fields  boys  on  their 
feet,  struggling  with  the  savages,  who  were  trying  to 
wrench  their  rifles  from  them. 

"Curse  you,  turn  loose  of  me !"  cried  Reuben  Fields. 

He  fought  for  a  time  longer  with  his  brawny  antag 
onist,  till  he  saw  others  coming.  Then  his  hand 
went  to  the  long  knife  at  his  belt,  and  the  next  in 
stant  the  Blackfoot  lay  dead  at  his  feet. 

Drouillard  wrenched  his  rifle  free  and  stood  off  his 
man  for  a  moment,  shouting  all  the  time  to  his  leader 
that  the  Indians  were  trying  to  get  the  horses.  Lewis 
saw  the  thieves  tugging  at  the  picket-ropes,  and 
hastened  into  the  fray,  cursing  himself  for  his  own 
credulity.  A  giant  Blackfoot  engaged  him,  bull-hide 
shield  advanced,  battle-ax  whirling;  but  wresting  him 
self  free,  Lewis  fired  point-blank  into  his  body,  and 
another  Indian  fell  dead. 

The  Blackfeet  found  they  had  met  their  match. 
They  dropped  the  picket-ropes  and  ran  as  fast  as  they 
could,  jumped  into  the  river,  swam  across,  and  so 

262 


THE    ABYSS 

escaped,  leaving  the  little  party  of  whites  unhurt,  but 
much  disturbed. 

"Mount,  men!     Hurry!"  Lewis  ordered. 

As  quickly  as  they  could  master  the  frightened 
horses,  his  men  obeyed.  With  all  thought  of  further 
exploration  ended,  they  set  out  at  top  speed,  and  rode 
all  that  day  and  night  as  fast  as  the  horses  could  travel. 
They  had  made  probably  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles 
when  at  length  they  came  to  the  mouth  of  the  Maria's 
River,  escaped  from  the  most  perilous  adventure  any 
of  them  had  had. 

Here  again,  by  that  strange  good  fortune  which 
seemed  to  guide  them,  they  arrived  just  in  time  to  see 
the  canoes  of  Gass  and  his  men  coming  down  the  Mis 
souri.  These  latter  had  made  the  grand  portage  at 
the  falls,  had  taken  up  all  the  caches,  and  had  brought 
the  contents  with  them.  The  stars  still  fought  for  the 
Volunteers  for  the  Discovery  of  the  West. 

There  was  no  time  to  wait.  The  Blackfeet  would 
be  coming  soon.  Lewis  abandoned  his  horses  here. 
The  entire  party  took  to  the  boats,  and  hurried  down 
the  river  as  fast  as  they  could,  paddling  in  relays,  day 
and  night.  Gaunt,  eager,  restless,  moody,  silent,  their 
leader  neither  urged  his  men  nor  chided  them,  nor  did 
he  refer  to  the  encounter  with  the  Blackfeet.  He  did 
not  need  to,  with  Drouillard  to  describe  it  to  them  all  a 
dozen  times. 

At  times  it  was  necessary  for  the  boats  to  stop  for 

meat,  usually  a  short  errand  in  a  country  alive  with 

game;  and,  as  was  his  custom,  Lewis  stepped  ashore 

one  evening  to  try  for  a  shot  at  some  near-by  game — 

18  263 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

elk,  buffalo,  antelope,  whatever  offered.  He  had  with 
him  Cruzatte,  the  one-eyed  Frenchman.  It  was  now 
that  fortune  frowned  ominously  almost  for  the  first 
time. 

The  two  had  not  been  gone  more  than  a  few  minutes 
when  the  men  remaining  at  the  boat  heard  a  shot — then 
a  cry,  and  more  shouting.  Cruzatte  came  running 
back  to  them  through  the  bushes,  calling  out  at  the 
top  of  his  voice: 

'The  captain!  I've  keeled  him — I've  keeled  the 
captain — I've  shot  him !" 

"What  is  that  you're  saying?"  demanded  Patrick 
Gass.  "If  you've  done  that,  you  would  be  better  dead 
yourself !" 

He  reached  out,  caught  Cruzatte's  rifle,  and  flung  it 
away  from  him. 

"Where  is  he?"  he  demanded. 

Cruzatte  led  the  way  back. 

"I  see  something  move  on  the  bushes,"  said  he,  "and 
I  shoot.  It  was  not  elk — it  was  the  captain.  Mon 
Dieu,  what  shall  we  do?" 

They  found  Captain  Lewis  sitting  up,  propped 
against  a  clump  of  willows,  his  legging  stripped  to  the 
thigh.  He  was  critically  examining  the  path  of  the 
bullet,  which  had  passed  through  the  limb.  At  seeing 
him  still  alive,  his  men  gave  a  shout  of  joy,  and  Cru 
zatte  received  a  parting  kick  from  his  sergeant. 

There  were  actual  tears  in  the  eyes  of  some  of  the 
men  as  they  gathered  around  their  commander — tears 
which  touched  Meriwether  Lewis  deeply. 

"It  is  all  right,  men !"  said  he.  "Do  not  be  alarmed. 
264 


THE    ABYSS 

Do  not  reprove  the  man  too  much.  The  sight  of  a 
little  blood  should  not  trouble  you.  We  are  all  sol 
diers.  This  is  only  an  accident  of  the  trail,  and  in  a 
short  time  it  will  be  mended.  See,  the  bone  is  not 
broken!" 

They  aided  him  back  to  the  boats  and  made  a  bed 
upon  which  he  might  lie,  his  head  propped  up  so  that 
he  could  see  what  lay  ahead.  Other  men  completed 
the  evening  hunt,  and  the  boats  hurried  on  down  the 
river.  The  next  day  found  them  fifty  miles  below  the 
scene  of  the  accident. 

"Sergeant,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis,  "the  natural 
fever  of  my  wound  is  coming  on.  Give  me  my  little 
war-sack  yonder — I  must  see  if  I  can  find  some  medi 
cine." 

Gass  handed  him  his  bag  of  leather,  and  Lewis 
sought  in  it  for  a  moment.  His  hand  encountered 
something  that  crinkled  in  the  touch — crinkled 
familiarly !  For  one  instant  he  stopped,  his  lips  com 
pressed  as  if  in  bodily  pain. 

It  was  another  of  the  mysterious  letters! 

Before  he  opened  it,  he  looked  at  it,  frowning, 
wondering.  Whence  came  these  messages,  and  how,  by 
whose  hand?  All  of  them  must  have  been  written  be 
fore  he  left  St.  Louis  in  May  of  1804.  Now  it  was 
August  of  1806.  There  was  no  human  agency  outside 
his  own  party  that  could  have  carried  them.  How  had 
they  reached  him?  What  messenger  had  brought 
them?  He  forgot  the  fever  of  his  wound  in  another 
and  greater  fever  which  arose  in  his  blood. 

He  was  with  his  men  now,  their  eyes  were  on  him 

265 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

all  the  time.  What  should  he  do — cast  this  letter  from 
him  into  the  river?  If  he  did  so,  he  felt  that  it  would 
follow  him  mysteriously,  pointing  to  the  corpus  delicti 
of  his  crime,  still  insistent  on  coming  to  the  eye ! 

His  men,  therefore,  saw  their  leader  casually  open  a 
bit  of  paper.  They  had  seen  him  do  such  things  a 
thousand  times,  since  journals  and  maps  were  a  part 
of  the  daily  business  of  so  many  of  them.  What  he 
did  attracted  no  attention. 

Captain  Lewis  would  have  felt  relieved  had  it  at 
tracted  more.  Before  he  read  any  of  the  words  that 
lay  before  him,  in  this  same  delicate  handwriting  that 
he  knew  so  well,  he  cast  a  slow  and  searching  gaze 
upon  the  face  of  every  man  that  was  turned  toward 
him.  In  fact,  he  held  the  letter  up  to  view  rather 
ostentatiously,  hoping  that  it  would  evoke  some  sign; 
but  he  saw  none. 

He  had  not  been  in  touch  with  the  main  party  for 
more  than  a  month.  He  had  with  him  nine  men. 
Which  of  these  had  secretly  carried  the  letter?  Was 
it  Gass,  Cruzatte,  Drouillard,  Reuben  Fields,  or  Mc- 
Neal? 

He  studied  their  faces  alternately.  Not  an  eyelash 
flickered.  The  men  who  looked  at  him  were  anxious 
only  for  his  comfort.  There  was  no  trace  of  guilty 
knowledge  on  any  of  these  honest  countenances  before 
him,  and  he  who  sought  such  admitted  his  own  failure. 
Meriwether  Lewis  lay  back  on  his  couch  in  the  boat,  as 
far  as  ever  from  his  solution  of  the  mystery. 

After  all,  mere  curiosity  as  to  the  nature  of  that 
mystery  was  a  small  matter.  It  seemed  of  more  worth 

266 


THE    ABYSS 

to  feel,  as  he  did,  that  the  woman  who  had  planned 
this  system  of  surprises  for  him  was  one  of  no  ordinary 
mind.  And  it  was  no  ordinary  woman  who  had  writ 
ten  the  words  that  he  now  read: 

SIR  AND  MY  FRIEND: 

Almost  I  am  in  despair.  This  is  my  fifth  letter;  you  re 
ceive  it,  perhaps,  some  months  after  your  start.  I  think 
you  would  have  come  back  before  now,  if  that  had  been 
possible.  I  had  no  news  of  you,  and  now  I  dread  news. 
Should  you  still  be  gone  a  year  from  the  time  I  write  this, 
then  I  shall  know  that  you  were  dead.  Dead?  Yes,  I  have 
written  that  word ! 

The  swift  thought  comes  to  me  that  you  will  never  see 
this  at  all — that  it  may,  it  must,  arrive  too  late.  Yet  I  must 
send  it,  even  under  that  chance.  I  must  write  it,  though  it 
ruin  all  my  happiness.  Shall  it  come  to  you  too  late,  others 
will  take  it  to  my  husband.  Then  this  secret — the  one  secret 
of  my  life — will  be  known.  Ah,  I  hope  this  may  come  to 
your  eyes,  your  living  eyes;  but  should  it  not,  none  the  less 
I  must  write  it. 

What  matter  ?  If  it  should  be  read  by  any  after  your  death, 
that  would  be  too  late  to  make  difference  with  you,  or  any 
difference  for  me.  After  that  I  should  not  care  for  anything 
— not  even  that  then  others  would  know  what  I  would  none 
might  ever  know  save  you  and  my  Creator,  so  long  as  we 
both  still  lived. 

This  wilderness  which  you  love,  the  wilderness  to  which 
you  fled  for  your  comfort — what  has  it  done  for  you?  Have 
you  found  that  lonely  grave  which  is  sometimes  the  reward 
of  the  adventurer  thither?  If  so,  do  you  sleep  well?  I  shall 
envy  you,  if  that  is  true.  I  swear  I  often  would  let  that 
thought  come  to  me — oi  the  vast  comfort  of  the  plains,  of  the 
mountains — the  sweep  of  the  untiring  winds,  sweet  in  the 
trees  and  grasses — or  the  perpetual  sound  of  water  passing 
by,  washing  out,  to  the  voice  of  its  unending  murmurs,  all 
memory  of  our  trials,  of  our  sins. 

What  need  now  to  ask  you  to  come  back?  What  need  to 
reproach  you  any  further?  How  could  I — how  can  I — with 

267 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

this  terrible  thought  in  my  soul  that  I  am  writing  to  a  man 
whose  eyes  cannot  see,  whose  ears  cannot  hear? 

Still,  what  difference,  whether  or  not  you  be  living?  Have 
not  your  eyes  thus  far  been  blind  to  me?  Have  not  your 
ears  been  deaf  to  me,  even  when  I  spoke  to  you  direct?  It 
was  the  call  of  your  country  as  against  my  call.  Was  ever 
thinking  woman  who  could  doubt  what  a  strong  man  would 
do  ?  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  known.  But  oh,  the  longing 
of  a  woman  to  feel  that  she  is  something  greater  in  a  man's 
life  even  than  his  deeds  and  his  ambitions — even  than  his 
labors — even  than  his  patriotism  ! 

It  is  hard  for  us  to  feel  that  we  are  but  puppets  in  the  great 
game  of  life,  of  so  small  worth  to  any  man.  How  can  we 
women  read  their  hearts — what  do  we  know  oi  men?  I 
cannot  say,  though  I  am  a  married  woman.  My  husband 
married  me.  We  had  our  honeymoon — and  he  went  away 
about  the  business  of  his  plantations.  Does  every  girl  dream 
of  a  continuous  courtship  and  find  a  dull  answer  in  the  facts  ? 
I  do  not  know. 

How  freely  I  write  to  you,  seeing  that  you  are  blind  and 
deaf,  of  that  wish  of  a  woman  to  be  the  one  grand  passion 
oi  a  strong  man's  life — above  all — before  even  his  country ! 
WThat  may  once  have  been  my  own  dream  of  my  capacity  to 
evoke  such  emotions  in  the  soul  of  any  man  I  have  flung 
into  the  scrap-heap  of  my  life.  The  man,  the  one  man — no ! 
What  was  I  saying,  Meriwether  Lewis,  to  you  but  now,  even 
though  you  were  blind  and  deaf  ?  I  must  not — I  must  not ! 

Nay,  let  me  dream  no  more !  It  is  too  late  now.  Living 
or  dead,  you  are  deaf  and  blind  to  all  that  I  could  ever  do 
for  you.  But  if  you  be  still  living,  if  this  shall  meet  your 
living  eyes,  however  cold  and  clear  they  may  be,  please, 
please  remember  it  was  not  'for  myself  alone  that  I  took  on 
the  large  ambitions  of  which  I  have  spoken  to  you,  the  large 
risks  engaged  with  them.  Nay,  do  not  reproach  me ;  leave  me 
my  woman's  right  to  make  all  the  reproaches.  I  only  wanted 
to  do  something  for  you. 

I  have  not  written  so  freely  to  any  man  in  all  my  life.  I 
could  not  do  so  now  did  I  not  feel  in  some  strange  way  that 
by  this  time — perhaps  at  this  very  time — you  are  either  dead 
or  in  some  extreme  of  peril.  If  I  knew  that  you  would  see 

268 


THE    ABYSS 

this,  I  could  not  write  it.  As  it  is,  it  gives  me  some  relief — 
it  is  my  confessional.  How  oiten  does  a  woman  ever  con 
fess  her  own,  her  inner  and  real  heart?  Never,  I  think,  to 
any  man — certainly  not  to  any  living,  present  man. 

I  married;  yes.  It  seemed  the  ordinary  and  natural  thing 
to  do,  a  useful,  necessary,  desirable  thing  to  do.  I  should 
not  complain — I  did  that  with  my  eyes  well  opened  and  with 
full  counsel  of  my  father.  My  eyes  well  opened,  but  my 
heart  well  closed !  I  took  on  my  duties  as  one  of  the  species 
human,  my  duties  as  wife,  as  head  of  a  household,  as  lady 
of  a  certain  rank.  I  did  all  that,  'for  it  is  what  most  women 
would  do.  It  is  the  system  of  society.  My  husband  is  con 
tent. 

What  am  I  writing  now?  Arguing,  justifying,  defending? 
Ah,  were  it  possible  that  you  would  read  this  and  come  back 
to  me,  never,  never,  though  it  killed  me,  would  I  open  my 
heart  to  you !  I  write  only  to  a  dead  man,  I  say — to  one  who 
can  never  hear.  I  write  once  more  to  a  man  who  set  other 
things  above  all  that  I  could  have  done.  Deeds,  deeds,  what 
you  call  your  country — your  own  impulses — these  were  the 
things  you  placed  above  me.  You  placed  above  me  this  ad 
venturing  into  the  wilderness.  Yes,  I  know  what  are  the 
real  impulses  in  your  man's  life.  I  know  what  you  valued 
above  me. 

But  you  are  dead !  While  you  lived,  I  hoped  your  conscience 
was  clean.  I  hope  that  never  once  have  you  descended  to 
any  conduct  not  belonging  to  Meriwether  Lewis  of  Virginia. 
I  know  that  no  matter  what  temptation  was  yours,  you  would 
remember  that  I  was  Mrs.  Alston — and  that  you  were  Meri 
wether  Lewis  of  Virginia. 

Nay,  I  cannot  stop !  How  can  you  mind  my  garrulous  pen 
— my  vain  pen — my  wicked,  wicked,  wicked,  shameful  pen 
— since  you  cannot  see  what  it  says? 

Ah,  I  had  so  hoped  once  more  to  see  you  before  it  was 
too  late !  Should  this  not  reach  you,  and  should  it  reach 
others,  why,  let  it  go  to  all  the  world  that  Theodosia  Burr 
that  was,  Mrs.  Alston  of  Carolina  that  is,  once  ardently  im 
portuned  a  man  to  join  her  in  certain  plans  "for  the  better 
ment  of  his  fortunes  as  well  as  her  own ;  and  that  you  did  not 
care  to  share  in  those  plans !  So  I  failed.  And  further — let 

2(5g 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

that  also  go  out  to  the  world — I  glory  in  the  truth  that  I 
have  failed! 

Yes,  that  at  last  is  the  truth  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart !  I 
have  searched  it  to  the  bottom,  and  I  have  found  the  truth. 
I  glory  in  the  truth  that  you  have  not  come  back  to  me. 
There — have  I  not  said  all  that  a  woman  could  say  to  a  man, 
living  or  dead? 

Just  as  strongly  as  I  have  urged  you  to  return,  just  as 
strongly  I  have  hoped  that  you  would  not  return !  In  my  soul 
I  wanted  to  see  you  go  on  in  your  own  fashion,  following 
your  own  dreams  and  caring  not  'for  mine.  That  was  the 
Meriwether  Lewis  I  had  pictured  to  myself.  I  shall  glory  in 
my  own  undoing,  if  it  has  meant  your  success. 

Holding  to  your  own  ambition,  keeping  your  own  loyalty, 
holding  your  own  counsel  and  your  own  speech  to  the  end 
— pushing  on  through  everything  to  what  you  have  set  out 
to  do — that  is  the  man  I  could  have  loved !  Deeds,  deeds, 
high  accomplishments — these  in  truth  are  the  things  which 
are  to  prevail.  The  selfish  love  of  success  as  success — the 
love  of  ease,  of  money,  of  power — these  are  the  things 
women  covet  from  a  man — yes,  but  they  are  not  the  things 
a  woman  loves  in  a  man.  No;  it  is  the  stiff-necked  man, 
bound  in  his  own  ambition,  whom  women  love,  even  as  they 
swear  they  do  not. 

Therefore,  do  not  come  back  to  me,  Meriwether  Lewis! 
Do  not  come — forget  all  that  I  have  said  to  you  before — 
do  not  return  until  you  have  done  your  work !  Do  not  come 
back  to  me  until  you  can  come  content.  Do  not  come  to  me 
with  your  splendid  will  broken.  Let  it  triumph  even  over 
the  will  of  a  Burr,  not  used  to  yielding,  not  easily  giving  up 
anything  desired. 

This  is  almost  the  last  letter  I  shall  ever  write  to  any  man  in 
all  my  life.  I  wonder  who  will  read  it — you.  or  all  the  world, 
perhaps !  I  wish  it  might  rest  with  you  at  the  last.  Oh,  let 
this  thought  lie  with  you  as  you  sleep — you  did  not  come 
back  to  me,  and  I  rejoiced  that  you  did  not! 

Tell  me,  why  is  it  that  I  think  of  you  lying  where  the 
wind  is  sweet  in  the  trees?  Why  is  it  that  I  think  of  myself, 
too,  lying  at  last,  with  all  my  doubts  composed,  all  my  rest 
less  ambitions  ended,  all  my  foolish  dreams  answered — in 

270 


THE    ABYSS 

some  place  where  the  sound  of  the  unceasing  waters  shall 
wash  out  from  the  memory  o'f  the  world  all  my  secrets  and 
all  my  sins?  Always  I  hear  myself  crying: 

"I  hope  I  shall  not  be  unhappy,  for  I  do  not  feel  that  I 
have  been  bad." 

Adieu,  Meriwether  Lewis,  adieu !  I  am  glad  you  can 
never  read  this.  I  am  glad  that  you  have  not  come  back. 
I  am  glad  that  I  have  failed ! 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE   BEE 

CAPTAIN,  dear,"  said  honest  Patrick  Gass,  put 
ting  an  arm  under  his  wounded  commander's 
shoulders  as  he  eased  his  position  in  the  boat, 
"ye  are  not  the  man  ye  was  when  ye  hit  me  that 
punch  back  yonder  on  the  Ohio,  three  years  ago. 
Since  ye're  so  weak  now,  I  have  a  good  mind  to  re 
turn  it  to  ye,  with  me  compliments.  'Tis  safer  now !" 

Gass  chuckled  at  his  own  jest  as  his  leader  looked 
up  at  him. 

The  boiling  current  of  the  great  Missouri,  bend 
after  bend,  vista  after  vista,  had  carried  them  down 
until  at  length  they  had  reached  the  mouth  of  the 
Yellowstone,  and  had  seen  on  ahead  the  curl  of  blue 
smoke  on  the  beach — the  encampment  of  their  com 
panions,  who  were  waiting  for  them  here.  These 
wonderful  young  men,  these  extraordinary  wilderness 
travelers,  had  performed  one  more  miracle.  Sepa 
rated  by  leagues  of  wild  and  unknown  land,  they  met 
now  casually,  as  though  it  were  only  what  should  be 
expected.  Their  feat  would  be  difficult  even  today. 

William  Clark,  walking  up  and  down  along  the 
bank,  looking  ever  upstream  for  some  sign  of  his 

272 


THE    BEE 

friend,  hurried  down  to  meet  the  boats,  and  gazed 
anxiously  at  the  figure  lifted  in  the  arms  of  the  men. 

"What's  wrong,  Merne?"  he  exclaimed.  "Tell 
me!" 

Lewis  waved  a  hand  at  him  in  reassurance,  and 
smiled  as  his  friend  bent  above  him. 

"Nothing  at  all,  Will,"  said  he.  "Nothing  at  all— 
I  was  playing  elk,  and  Cruzatte  thought  it  very  life 
like!  It  is  just  a  bullet  through  the  thigh;  the  bone 
is  safe,  and  the  wound  will  soon  heal.  It  is  lucky 
that  we  are  not  on  horseback  now." 

By  marvel,  by  miracle,  the  two  friends  were  re 
united  once  more;  and  surely  around  the  camp  fires 
there  were  stories  for  all  to  tell. 

Sacajawea,  the  Indian  girl,  sat  listening  but  briefly 
to  all  these  tales  of  adventure — tales  not  new  to  one 
of  her  birth  and  education.  Silently  and  without 
question,  she  took  the  place  of  nurse  to  the  wounded 
commander.  She  had  herbs  of  her  own  choosing, 
simple  remedies  which  her  people  had  found  good  for 
the  treatment  of  wounds.  As  if  the  captain  were  her 
child — rather  than  the  forsaken  infant  who  lustily  be 
moaned  his  mother's  absence  from  his  tripod  in  the 
lodge — she  took  charge  of  the  injured  man,  until  at 
length  he  made  protest  that  he  was  as  well  as  ever, 
and  that  they  must  go  on. 

Again  the  paddles  plied,  again  the  bows  of  the 
canoes  turned  downstream.  It  seemed  but  a  short 
distance  thence  to  the  Mandan  villages,  and  once 
among  the  Mandans  they  felt  almost  as  if  they  were 
at  home. 

273 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

The  Mandans  received  them  as  beings  back  from 
the  grave.  The  drums  sounded,  the  feast-fires  were 
lighted,  and  for  a  time  the  natives  and  their  guests 
joined  in  rejoicing.  But  still  Lewis's  restless  soul  was 
dissatisfied  with  delay.  He  would  not  wait. 

"We  must  get  on !"  said  he.     "We  cannot  delay." 

The  boats  must  start  down  the  last  stretch  of  the 
great  river.  Would  any  of  the  tribesmen  like  to  go 
to  the  far  East,  to  see  the  Great  Father?  Big  White, 
chief  of  the  Mandans,  said  his  savage  prayers. 

"I  will  go,"  said  he.  "I  will  go  and  tell  him  of 
my  people.  We  are  poor  and  weak.  I  will  ask  him 
to  take  pity  on  us  and  protect  us  against  the  Sioux." 

So  it  was  arranged  that  Big  White  and  his  women, 
with  Jussaume,  his  wife,  and  one  or  two  others,  should 
accompany  the  brigade  down  the  river.  Loud  lamen 
tations  mingled  with  the  preparations  for  the  de 
parture. 

Sacajawea,  what  of  her?  Her  husband  lived  among 
the  Mandans.  This  was  the  end  of  the  trail  for  her, 
and  not  the  rudest  man  but  was  sad  at  the  thought 
of  going  on  without  her.  They  knew  well  enough 
that  in  all  likelihood,  but  for  her,  their  expedition 
could  never  have  attained  success.  Beyond  that,  each 
man  of  them  held  memory  of  some  personal  kindness 
received  at  her  hands.  She  had  been  the  life  and  coin- 
fort  of  the  party,  as  well  as  its  guide  and  inspiration. 

"Sacajawea,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis,  when  the 
hour  for  departure  came,  "I  am  now  going-  to  finish 
my  trail.  Do  you  want  to  go  part  way  with  us?  I 
can  take  you  to  the  village  where  we  started  up  this 

5*74 


THE    BEE 

river — St.  Louis.  You  can  stay  there  for  one  snow, 
until  Big  White  comes  back  from  seeing  the  Great 
Father.  We  can  take  the  baby,  too,  if  you  like/' 

Her  face  lighted  up  with  a  strange  wistfulness. 

"Yes,  Capt'in,"  said  she,  "I  go  with  Big  White— 
and  you." 

He  smiled  as  he  shook  his  head. 

"We  go  farther  than  that,  many  sleeps  farther." 

"Who  shall  make  the  fire?  Who  shall  mend  your 
moccasins?  See,  there  is  no  other  woman  in  your 
party.  Who  shall  make  tea  ?  Who  shall  spread  down 
the  robes?  Me — Mrs.  Charbonneau !" 

She  drew  herself  up  proudly  with  this  title;  but 
still  Meriwether  Lewis  looked  at  her  sadly,  as  he  stood, 
lean,  gaunt,  full-bearded,  clad  in  his  leather  costume 
of  the  plains,  supporting  himself  on  his  crutch. 

"Sacajawea,"  said  he,  "I  cannot  take  your  husband 
with  me.  All  my  goods  are  gone — I  cannot  pay  him; 
and  now  we  do  not  need  him  to  teach  us  the  language 
of  other  peoples.  From  here  we  can  go  alone." 

"Aw  right!"  said  Sacajawea,  in  paleface  idiom. 
"Him  stay — me  go !" 

Meriwether  Lewis  pondered  for  a  time  on  what 
fashion  of  speech  he  must  employ  to  make  her  under 
stand. 

"Bird  Woman,"  said  he  at  length,  "you  are  a  good 
girl.  It  would  pain  my  heart  to  see  you  unhappy. 
But  if  you  came  with  me  to  my  villages,  women  would 
say,  'Who  is  that  woman  there?  She  has  no  lodge; 
she  does  not  belong  to  any  man/  They  must  not  say 
that  of  Sacajawea — she  is  a  good  woman.  Those  are 

275 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

not  the  things  your  ears  should  hear.  Now  I  shall  tell 
the  Great  Father  that,  but  for  Sacajawea  we  should 
all  have  been  lost;  that  we  should  never  have  come 
back  again.  His  heart  will  be  open  to  those  words. 
He  will  send  gifts  to  you.  Sometime,  I  believe,  the 
Great  Father's  sons  will  build  a  picture  of  you  in  iron, 
out  yonder  at  the  parting  of  the  rivers.  It  will  show 
you  pointing  on  ahead  to  show  the  way  to  the  white 
men.  Sacajawea  must  never  die — she  has  done  too 
much  to  be  forgotten.  Some  day  the  children  of  the 
Great  Father  will  take  your  baby,  if  you  wish,  and 
bring  him  up  in  the  way  of  the  white  men.  What 
we  can  do  for  you  we  will  do.  Are  my  words  good 
in  your  ears?" 

"Your  words  are  good,"  said  Sacajawea.  "But  I 
go,  too !  No  want  to  stay  here  now.  No  can  stay !" 

"But  here  is  your  village,  Sacajawea — this  is  your 
home,  where  you  must  live.  You  will  be  happier  here. 
See  now,  when  I  sleep  safe  at  night,  I  shall  say,  'It 
was  Sacajawea  showed  me  the  way.  We  did  not  go 
astray — we  went  straight/  We  will  not  forget  who 
led  us." 

"But,"  she  still  expostulated,  looking  up  at  him, 
"how  can  you  cook?  How  can  you  make  the  lodge? 
One  woman — she  must  help  all  time." 

A  spasm  of  pain  crossed  Lewis's  face. 

"Sacajawea,"  said  he,  "I  told  you  that  I  had  made 
medicine — that  I  had  promised  my  dream  never  to 
have  a  lodge  of  my  own.  Always  I  shall  live  upon 
the  trail — no  lodge  fire  in  any  village  shall  be  the  place 
for  me.  And  I  told  you  I  had  made  a  vow  to  my 

276 


THE    BEE 

dream  that  no  woman  should  light  the  lodge  fire  for 
me.  You  are  a  princess — the  daughter  of  a  chief,  the 
sister  of  a  chief,  a  great  person;  you  know  about  a 
warrior's  medicine.  Surely,  then,  you  know  that  no 
one  is  allowed  to  ask  about  the  vows  of  a  chief! 

"By  and  by,"  he  added  gently,  "a  great  many  white 
men  will  come  here,  Sacajawea.  They  will  find  you 
here.  They  will  bring  you  gifts.  You  will  live  here 
long,  and  your  baby  will  grow  to  be  a  man,  and  his 
children  will  live  here  long.  But  now  I  must  go  to 
my  people/' 

The  unwonted  tears  of  an  Indian  woman  were  in 
the  eyes  which  looked  up  at  him. 

"Ah!"  said  she,  in  reproach.  "I  went  with  you. 
I  cooked  in  the  lodges.  I  showed  the  way.  I  was 
as  one  of  your  people.  Now  I  say  I  go  to  your  peo 
ple,  and  you  say  no.  You  need  me  once — you  no  need 
me  now!  You  say  to  me,  your  people  are  not  my 
people — you  not  need  Sacajawea  any  more !" 

The  Indian  has  no  word  for  good-by.  The  faithful 
— nay,  loving — girl  simply  turned  away  and  passed 
from  him ;  nor  did  he  ever  see  her  more. 

Alone,  apart  from  her  people,  she  seated  herself 
on  the  brink  of  the  bluff,  below  which  lay  the  boats, 
ready  to  depart.  She  drew  her  blanket  over  her  head. 
When  at  length  the  voyage  had  begun,  she  did  not 
look  out  once  to  watch  them  pass.  They  saw  her 
motionless  figure  high  on  the  bank  above  them.  The 
Bird  Woman  was  mourning. 

The  little  Indian  dog,  Meriwether  Lewis's  constant 
companion,  now,  like  Sacajawea,  mercifully  banished, 

277 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

sat  at  her  side,  as  motionless  as  she.  Both  of  them, 
mute  and  resigned,  accepted  their  fate. 

But  as  for  those  others,  those  hardy  men,  now 
homeward  bound,  they  were  rejoicing.  Speed  was 
the  cry  of  all  the  lusty  paddlers,  who,  hour  after  hour, 
kept  the  boats  hurrying  down,  aided  by  the  current 
and  sometimes  pushed  forward  by  favorable  winds. 
They  were  upon  the  last  stretch  of  their  wonderful 
journey.  Speed,  early  and  late,  was  all  they  asked. 
They  were  going  home — back  over  the  trail  they  had 
blazed  for  their  fellows ! 

"Capitaine,  Capitaine,  look  what  I'll  found!" 

They  were  halting  at  noonday,  far  down  the  Mis 
souri,  for  the  boiling  of  the  kettles.  Lewis  lay  on  his 
robes,  still  too  lame  to  walk,  watching  his  men  as  they 
scattered  here  and  there  after  their  fashion.  It  was 
Cruzatte  who  approached  him,  looking  at  something 
which  the  voyager  held  in  his  hand. 

"What  is  it,  Cruzatte?"  smiled  Lewis. 

He  was  anxious  always  to  be  as  kindly  as  possible 
to  this  unlucky  follower,  whose  terrible  mistake  had 
well-night  resulted  in  the  death  of  the  leader. 

"Ouch,  by  gar !  She'll  bite  me  with  his  tail.  She's 
hot!" 

Cruzatte  held  out  in  his  fingers  a  small  but  fateful 
object.  It  was  a  bee,  an  ordinary  honey-bee.  East 
of  the  Mississippi,  in  Illinois,  Kentucky,  the  Virginias, 
it  would  have  meant  nothing.  Here  on  the  great 
plains  it  meant  much. 

Meriwether  Lewis  held  the  tiny  creature  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand. 


THE    BEE 

"Why  did  you  kill  it,  Cruzatte?"  he  asked.  "It 
was  on  its  errand." 

He  turned  to  his  friend  who  sat  near,  at  the  other 
side. 

"Will,"  he  said,  "our  expedition  has  succeeded. 
Here  is  the  proof  of  it.  The  bee  is  following  our 
path.  They  are  coming !" 

Clark  nodded.  Woodsmen  as  they  both  were,  they 
knew  well  enough  the  Indian  tradition  that  the  bee  is 
the  harbinger  of  the  coming  of  the  white  man.  When 
he  comes,  the  plow  soon  follows,  and  weeds  grow 
where  lately  have  been  the  flowers  of  the  forest  or 
the  prairie. 

They  sat  for  a  time  looking  at  the  little  insect,  which 
bore  so  fateful  a  message  into  the  West.  Reverently 
Lewis  placed  it  in  his  collector's  case — the  first  bee  of 
the  plains. 

"They  are  coming!"  said  he  again  to  his  friend. 


19 


CHAPTER    XII 

WHAT    VOICE    HAD    CALLED? 

THEY  lay  in  camp  far  down  the  river  whose 
flood  had  borne  them  on  so  rapidly.  They  had 
passed  through  the  last  of  the  dangerous  coun 
try  of  the  Sioux,  defying  the  wild  bands  whose  gant 
let  they  had  to  run,  but  which  they  had  run  in  safety. 
Ahead  was  only  what  might  be  called  a  pleasure  jour 
ney,  to  the  end  of  the  river  trail. 

The  men  were  happy  as  they  lay  about  their  fires, 
which  glowed  dully  in  the  dusk.  Each  was  telling 
what  he  presently  was  going  to  do,  when  he  got  his 
pay  at  old  St.  Louis,  not  far  below. 

William  Clark,  weary  with  the  day's  labor,  had 
excused  himself  and  gone  to  his  blankets.  Lewis,  the 
responsible  head  of  the  expedition,  alone,  aloof,  silent, 
sat  moodily  looking  into  his  fire,  the  victim  of  one  of 
his  recurring  moods  of  melancholy. 

He  stirred  at  length  and  raised  himself  restlessly. 
It  was  not  unusual  for  him  to  be  sleepless,  and  always, 
while  awake,  he  had  with  him  the  problems  of  his 
many  duties;  but  at  this  hour  something  unwontedly 
(disturbing  had  come  to  Meriwether  Lewis. 

He  turned  once  more  and  bent  down,  as  if  figur- 
280 


WHAT    VOICE    HAD    CALLED? 

ing  out  some  puzzle  of  a  baffling-  trail.  Picking  up  a 
bit  of  stick,  he  traced  here  and  there,  in  the  ashes  at  his 
feet,  points  and  lines,  as  if  it  were  some  problem  in 
geometry.  Uneasy,  strange  of  look,  now  and  again 
he  muttered  to  himself. 

"Hoh!"  he  exclaimed  at  length,  almost  like  an  In 
dian,  as  if  in  some  definite  conclusion. 

He  had  run  his  trail  to  the  end,  had  finished  the 
problem  in  the  ashes. 

"Hoh !"  his  voice  again  rumbled  in  his  chest. 

And  now  he  threw  his  tracing-stick  away.  He  sat, 
his  head  on  one  side,  as  if  looking  at  some  distant  star. 
It  seemed  that  he  heard  a  voice  calling  to  him  in  the 
night,  so  faintly  that  he  could  not  be  sure.  His  face, 
thin,  gaunt,  looked  set  and  hard  in  the  light  of  his 
little  fire.  Something  stern,  something  wistful,  too, 
showed  in  his  eyes,  frowning  under  the  deep  brows. 
Was  Meriwether  Lewis  indeed  gone  mad?  Had  the 
hardships  of  the  wilderness  at  last  taken  their  toll  of 
him — as  had  sometimes  happened  to  other  men? 

He  rose,  limping  a  little,  for  he  still  was  weak  and 
stiff  from  his  wound,  though  disdaining  staff  or 
crotched  bough  to  lean  upon.  He  looked  about  him 
cautiously. 

The  camp  was  slumbering.  Here  and  there,  stirred 
by  the  passing  breeze,  the  embers  of  a  little  fire  glowed 
like  an  eye  in  the  dark.  The  men  slept,  some  under 
their  rude  shelters,  others  in  the  open  under  the  stars, 
each  rolled  in  his  robe,  his  rifle  under  the  flap  to  keep 
it  from  the  dew. 

Meriwether  Lewis  knew  the  place  of  every  man  in 
281 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

the  encampment.  Ordway,  Pryor,  Gass — each  of  the 
three  sergeants  slept  by  his  own  mess  fire,  his  squad 
around  him.  McNeal,  Bratton,  Shields,  Cruzatte, 
Reuben  Fields,  Goodrich,  Whitehouse,  Coalter,  Shan 
non — the  captain  knew  where  each  lay,  rolled  up  like 
a  mummy.  He  had  marked  each  when  he  threw  down 
his  bed-roll  that  night;  for  Meriwether  Lewis  was  a 
leader  of  men,  and  no  detail  escaped  him. 

He  passed  now,  stealthy  as  an  Indian,  along  the 
rows  of  sleeping  forms.  His  moccasined  foot  made 
no  sound.  Save  for  his  uniform  coat,  he  was  clad  as 
a  savage  himself;  and  his  alert  eye,  his  noiseless  foot, 
might  have  marked  him  one.  He  sought  some  one  of 
these — and  he  knew  where  lay  the  man  he  wished  to 
find. 

He  stood  beside  him  silently  at  last,  looking  down 
at  the  sleeping  figure.  The  man  lay  a  little  apart  from 
the  others,  for  he  was  to  stand  second  watch  that 
night,  and  the  second  guard  usually  slept  where  he 
would  not  disturb  the  others  when  awakened  for  his 
turn  of  duty. 

This  man — he  was  long  and  straight  in  his  blankets, 
and  filled  them  well — suddenly  awoke,  and  lay  staring 
tip.  He  had  not  been  called,  no  hand  had  touched 
him,  it  wras  not  yet  time  for  guard  relief;  but  he  had 
felt  a  presence,  even  as  he  slept. 

He  stared  up  at  a  tall  and  motionless  figure  looking 
down.  With  a  swift  movement  he  reached  for  his 
rifle;  but  the  next  instant,  even  as  he  lay,  his  hand 
went  to  his  forehead  in  salute.  He  was  looking  up 
into  the  face  of  his  commander! 

282 


WHAT    VOICE    HAD    CALLED? 

"Shannon!"  He  heard  a  hoarse  voice  command 
him.  "Get  up!" 

George  Shannon,  the  youngest  of  the  party,  sprang 
out  of  his  bed  half  clad. 

"Captain!"  He  saluted  again.  "What  is  it,  sir?" 
he  half  whispered,  as  if  in  apprehension. 

"Put  on  your  jacket,  Shannon.     Come  with  me!" 

Shannon  obeyed  hurriedly.  Half  stripped,  he  stood 
a  fine  figure  of  young  manhood  himself,  lithe,  supple, 
yet  developed  into  rugged  strength  by  his  years  of 
labor  on  the  trail. 

"What  is  it,  Captain  ?"  he  inquired  once  more. 

They  were  apart  from  the  others  now,  in  the 
shadows  beyond  Lewis's  fire.  Shannon  had  caught 
sight  of  his  leader's  countenance,  noting  the  wildness 
of  its  look,  its  drawn  and  haggard  lines. 

His  commander's  hand  thrust  in  his  face  a  clutch 
of  papers,  folded — letters,  they  seemed  to  be.  Shan 
non  could  see  the  trembling  of  the  hand  that  held 
them. 

"You  know  what  I  want,  Shannon!  I  want  the 
rest  of  these — I  want  the  last  one  of  them!  Give  it  to 
me  now !" 

The  youth  felt  on  his  shoulder  the  grip  of  a  hand 
hard  as  steel.  He  did  not  make  any  answer,  but  stood 
dumb,  wondering  what  might  be  the  next  act  of  this 
man,  who  seemed  half  a  madman. 

"Five  of  them!"  he  heard  the  same  hoarse  voice 
go  on.  "There  must  be  another — there  must  be  one 
more,  at  least.  You  have  done  this — you  brought 
these  letters.  Give  me  the  last  one  of  them!  Why 

283 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

don't  you  answer  ?"  With  sudden  and  violent  strength 
Lewis  shook  the  boy  as  a  dog  might  a  rat.  "Answer 
me!" 

"Captain,  I  cannot!"  broke  out  Shannon. 

"What?     Then  there  is  another?" 

"I'll  not  answer!  I'll  stand  my  trial  before  court 
martial,  if  you  please." 

Again  the  heavy  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"There  will  be  no  trial !"  he  heard  the  hoarse  voice 
of  his  commander  saying.  "I  cannot  sleep.  I  must 
have  the  last  one.  There  is  another!" 

Shannon  laid  a  hand  on  the  iron  wrist. 

"How  do  you  know  ?"  he  faltered.  "Why  do  you 
think " 

"Am  I  not  your  leader?  Is  it  not  my  business  to 
know?  I  am  a  woodsman.  You  thought  you  had 
covered  your  trail,  but  it  was  plain.  I  know  you  are 
the  messenger  who  has  been  bringing  these  letters  to 
me  from  her.  I  need  not  name  her,  and  you  shall 
not!  For  what  reason  you  did  this — by  what  plan — 
I  do  not  know,  but  I  know  you  did  it.  You  were 
absent  each  time  that  I  found  one  of  these  letters. 
That  was  too  cunning  to  be  cunning !  You  are  young, 
Shannon,  you  have  something  to  learn.  You  sing 
songs — love  songs — you  write  letters — love  letters, 
perhaps !  You  are  Irish — you  have  sentiment.  There 
is  romance  about  you — you  are  the  man  she  would 
choose  to  do  what  you  have  done.  Being  a  woman, 
she  knew,  she  chose  well ;  but  it  is  my  business  to  read 
all  these  signs. 

"Give  me  that  letter !    I  am  your  officer." 
284 


WHAT    VOICE    HAD    CALLED? 

"Captain,  I  will  not!" 

"I  tell  you  I  cannot  sleep !  Give  it  to  me,  boy,  or, 
by  Heaven,  you  yourself  shall  sleep  the  long  sleep 
here  and  now!  What?  You  still  refuse?'' 

"Yes,  I'll  not  be  driven  to  it.  You  say  I'm  Irish. 
I  am — I'll  not  give  up  a  woman's  secret — it's  a  ques 
tion  of  honor,  Captain.  There  is  a  woman  concerned, 
as  you  know." 

"Yes!" 

"And  I  promised  her,  too.  I  swear  I  never  planned 
any  wrong  to  either  of  you.  I  would  die  at  your 
order  now,  as  you  know;  but  you  have  no  right  to 
order  this,  and  I'll  not  answer !" 

The  hand  closed  at  his  throat.  The  boy  could  not 
speak,  but  still  Meriwether  Lewis  growled  on  at  him. 

"Shannon!  Speak!  Why  have  you  kept  secrets 
from  your  commanding  officer?  You  have  begun  to 
tell  me— tell  me  all!" 

The  boy's  hand  clutched  at  his  leader's  wrists.  At 
length  Lewis  loosed  him. 

"Captain,"  began  the  victim,  "what  do  you  mean? 
What  can  I  do?" 

"I  will  tell  you  what  I  mean,  Shannon.  I  promised 
to  care  for  you  and  bring  you  back  safe  to  your  par 
ents.  You'll  never  see  your  parents  again,  save  on 
one  condition.  I  trusted  you,  thought  you  had  special 
loyalty  for  me.  Was  I  wrong?" 

"On  my  honor,  Captain,"  the  boy  broke  out,  "I'd 
have  died  for  you  any  time,  and  I'd  do  it  now !  I've 
worked  my  very  best.  You're  my  officer,  my  chief !" 

With  one  movement,  Meriwether  Lewis  flung  off 

285 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

the  uniform  coat  that  he  wore.  They  stood  now,  man 
to  man,  stripped,  and  neither  gave  back  from  the 
other. 

"Shannon/*  said  Lewis,  "I'm  not  your  officer  now. 
I'm  going1  to  choke  the  truth  out  of  you.  Will  you 
fight  me,  or  are  you  afraid?" 

The  last  cruelty  was  too  much.  The  boy  began  to 
gulp. 

"I'm  not  afraid  to  fight,  sir.  I'd  fight  any  man, 
but  you — no,  I'll  not  do  it!  Even  stripped,  you're 
my  commander  still." 

"Is  that  the  reason?" 

"Not  all  of  it.  You're  weak,  Captain,  your  wound 
has  you  in  a  fever.  'Twould  not  be  fair — I  could  do 
as  I  liked  with  you  now.  I'll  not  fight  you.  I 
couldn't !" 

"What  ?  You  will  not  obey  me  as  your  officer,  and 
will  not  fight  me  as  a  man?  Do  you  want  to  be 
whipped?  Do  you  want  to  be  shot?  Do  you  want 
to  be  drummed  out  of  camp  tomorrow  morning?  By 
Heaven,  Private  Shannon,  one  of  these  choices  will 
be  yours !" 

But  something  of  the  icy  silence  of  the  youth  who 
heard  these  terrible  words  gave  pause  even  to  the  mad 
man  that  was  Meriwether  Lewis  now.  He  halted,  his 
hooked  hands  extended  for  the  spring  upon  his  oppo 
nent. 

"What  is  it,  boy?"  he  whispered  at  last.  "What 
have  I  done?  What  did  I  say?" 

Shannon  was  sobbing  now. 

"Captain,"  he  said,  and  thrust  a  hand  into  the  bosom 
286 


WHAT    VOICE    HAD    CALLED? 

of  his  tunic — "Captain,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  do 
that!  Don't  apologize  to  me.  I  understand.  Leave 
me  alone.  Here's  the  letter.  There  were  six — this  is 
the  last." 

Lewis's  strained  muscles  relaxed,  his  blazing  eyes 
softened. 

"Shannon !"  he  whispered  once  more.  "What  have 
I  done?" 

He  took  the  letter  in  his  hand,  but  did  not  look  at 
it,  although  his  ringers  could  feel  the  seal  unbroken. 

"Why  do  you  give  it  to  me  now,  boy  ?"  he  asked  at 
length.  "What  changed  you?" 

"Because  it's  orders,  sir.  She  ordered  me — that  is, 
she  asked  me — to  give  you  these  letters  at  times  when 
you  seemed  to  need  them  most — when  you  were  sick 
or  in  trouble,  when  anything  had  gone  wrong.  We 
couldn't  figure  so  far  on  ahead  when  I  ought  to  give 
you  each  one.  I  had  to  do  my  best.  I  didn't  know 
at  first,  but  now  I  see  that  you're  sick.  You're  not 
yourself — you're  in  trouble.  She  told  me  not  to  let 
you  know  who  carried  them,"  he  added  rather  incon- 
sequently.  "She  said  that  that  might  end  it  all.  She 
thought  that  you  might  come  back." 

"Come  back — when  ?" 

"She  didn't  know — we  couldn't  any  of  us  tell — it 
was  all  a  guess.  All  this  about  the  letters  was  left  to 
me,  to  do  my  best.  I  couldn't  ask  you,  Captain,  or  any 
one.  I  don't  know  what  was  in  the  letters,  sir,  and  I 
don't  ask  you,  for  that's  not  my  business ;  but  I  prom 
ised  her." 

"What  did  she  promise  you  ?" 
287 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"Nothing.  She  didn't  promise  me  pay,  because 
she  knew  I  wouldn't  have  done  it  for  pay.  She  only 
looked  at  me,  and  she  seemed  sad,  I  don't  know  why. 
I  couldn't  help  but  promise  her.  I  gave  her  my  word 
of  honor,  because  she  said  her  letters  might  be  of  use 
to  you,  but  that  no  one  else  must  know  that  she  had 
written  them." 

"When  was  all  this?" 

"At  St .  Louis,  just  before  we  started.  I  reckon  she 
picked  me  out  because  she  thought  I  was  especially 
close  to  you.  You  know  I  have  been  so." 

"Yes,  I  know,  Shannon." 

"I  thought  I  was  doing  something  for  you.  You 
see,  she  told  me  that  her  name  must  not  be  mentioned, 
that  no  one  must  know  about  this,  because  it  would 
hurt  a  woman's  reputation.  She  thought  the  men 
might  talk,  and  that  would  be  bad  for  you.  I  could 
not  refuse  her.  Do  you  blame  me  now?" 

"No,  Shannon.  No!  In  all  this  there  is  but  one 
to  blame,  and  that  is  your  officer,  myself!" 

"I  did  not  think  there  was  any  harm  in  my  getting 
the  letters  to  you,  Captain.  I  knew  that  lady  was  your 
friend.  I  know  who  she  is.  She  was  more  beautiful 
than  any  woman  in  St.  Louis  when  we  were  there — 
more  a  lady,  somehow.  Of  course,  I'm  not  an  officer 
or  a  gentleman — I'm  only  a  boy  from  the  backwoods, 
and  only  a  private  soldier.  I  couldn't  break  my  prom 
ise  to  her,  and  I  couldn't  very  well  obey  your  orders 
unless  I  did.  If  I've  broken  any  of  the  regulations 
you  can  punish  me.  You  see,  I  held  back  this  letter — 
I  gave  it  to  you  now  because  I  had  the  feeling  that  I 

288 


WHAT    VOICE    HAD    CALLED? 

ought  to — that  she  would  want  me  to.  It  is  the  fever, 
sir!" 

"Aye,  the  fever!" 

Silence  fell  as  they  stood  there  in  the  night.  The 
boy  went  on,  half  tremblingly : 

"Please,  please,  Captain  Lewis,  don't  call  me  a  cow 
ard  !  I  don't  believe  I  am.  I  was  trying  to  do  some 
thing  for  you — for  both  of  you.  It  was  always  on  my 
mind  about  these  letters.  I  did  my  best  and  now " 

And  now  it  was  the  eye  of  Meriwether  Lewis  that 
suddenly  was  wet ;  it  was  his  voice  that  trembled. 

"Boy,"  said  he,  "I  am  your  officer.  Your  officer 
asks  your  pardon.  I  have  tried  myself.  I  was  guilty. 
Will  you  forget  this  ?" 

"Not  a  word  to  a  soul  in  the  world,  Captain !"  broke 
out  Shannon.  "About  a  woman,  you  see,  we  do  not 
talk." 

"No,  Mr.  Shannon,  about  a  woman  we  gentlemen 
do  not  talk.  But  now  tell  me,  boy,  what  can  I  do  for 
you — what  can  I  ever  do  for  you  ?" 

"Nothing  in  the  world,  Captain — but  just  one 
thing." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Please,  sir,  tell  me  that  you  don't  think  me  a  cow 
ard!" 

"A  coward?  No,  Shannon,  you  are  the  bravest 
fellow  I  ever  met!" 

The  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder  was  kindly  now. 
The  right  hand  of  Captain  Meriwether  Lewis  sought 
that  of  Private  George  Shannon.  The  madness  of 
the  trail,  of  the  wilderness — the  madness  of  absence 

289 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

and  of  remorse — had  swept  by,  so  that  Lewis  once 
more  was  officer,  gentleman,  just  and  generous  man. 

Shannon  stooped  and  picked  up  the  coat  that  his 
captain  had  cast  from  him.  He  held  it  up,  and  aided 
his  commander  again  to  don  it.  Then,  saluting,  he 
marched  off  to  his  bivouac  bed. 

From  that  day  to  the  end  of  his  life,  no  one  ever 
heard  George  Shannon  mention  a  word  of  this  episode. 
Beyond  the  two  leaders  of  the  party,  none  of  the  expe 
dition  ever  knew  who  had  played  the  part  of  the 
mysterious  messenger.  Nor  did  any  one  know,  later, 
whence  came  the  funds  which  eventually  carried  George 
Shannon  through  his  schooling  in  the  East,  through 
his  studies  for  the  bar,  and  into  the  successful  practise 
which  he  later  built  up  in  Kentucky's  largest  city. 

Meriwether  Lewis,  limp  and  lax  now,  shivering  in 
the  chill  under  the  reaction  from  his  excitement,  turned 
away,  stepped  back  to  his  own  lodge,  and  contrived  a 
little  light,  after  the  frontier  fashion — a  rag  wick  in  a 
shallow  vessel  of  grease.  With  this  uncertain  aid  he 
bent  down  closer  to  read  the  finely  written  lines, 
which  ran: 


MY  FRIEND: 

This  is  my  last  letter  to  you.  This  is  the  one  I  have 
marked  Number  Six — the  last  one  for  my  messenger. 

Yes,  since  you  have  not  returned,  now  I  know  you  never 
can.  Rest  well,  then,  sir,  and  let  me  be  strong  to  bear  the 
news  when  at  length  it  comes,  if  it  ever  shall  come.  Let 
the  winds  and  the  waters  sound  your  requiem  in  that  wilder 
ness  which  you  loved  more  than  me — which  you  loved  more 
than  fame  or  fortune,  honor  or  glory  for  yourseli.  The 
wilderness !  It  holds  you.  And  for  me — when  at  last  I  come 

290 


WHAT    VOICE    HAD    CALLED? 

to  lay  me  down,  I  hope,  too,  some  wilderness  of  wood  or 
waters  will  be  around  me  with  its  vast  silences. 

After  all,  what  is  life?  Such  a  brief  thing!  Little  in  it 
but  duty  done  well  and  faithfully.  I  know  you  did  yours 
while  you  lived.  I  have  tried  to  do  mine.  It  has  been  hard 
for  me  to  see  what  was  duty.  If  I  knew  as  absolute  truth 
that  conviction  now  in  my  heart — that  you  never  can  come 
back — how  then  could  I  go  on  ? 

Meriwether — Merne — Merne — I  have  been  calling  to  you  ! 
Have  you  not  heard  me  ?  Can  you  not  hear  me  now,  calling 
to  you  across  all  the  distances  to  come  back  to  me  ?  I  cannot 
give  you  up  to  the  world,  because  I  have  loved  you  so  much 
for  myself.  It  was  a  cruel  fate  that  parted  us — more  and 
more  I  know  that,  even  as  more  and  more  I  resolve  to  do 
what  is  my  duty.  But,  oh,  I  miss  you !  Come  back  to  me — 

to  one  who  never  was  and  never  can  be,  but  is 

Yours, 

THEODOSIA. 

It  took  him  long-  to  read  this  letter.  At  last  his 
trembling1  hand  dropped  the  creased  and  broken  sheets. 
The  guttering  light  went  out.  The  men  were  silent, 
sleeping  near  their  fires.  The  peace  of  the  great  plains 
lay  all  about. 

She  had  said  it — had  said  that  last  fated  word. 
Now  indeed  he  knew  what  voice  had  called  to  him 
across  the  deeps! 

He  reflected  now  that  all  these  messages  had  been 
written  to  him  before  he  left  her;  and  that  when  he 
saw  her  last  she  was  standing,  tears  in  her  eyes,  out 
raged  by  the  act  of  the  man  whom  she  had  trusted — 
nay,  whom  she  had  loved ! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  NEWS 

A  HORSEMAN  rode  furiously  over  the  new  road 
from  Fort  Belle fontaine  to  St.  Louis  village. 
He  carried  news.  The  expedition  of  Lewis 
and  Clark  had  returned! 

Yes,  these  men  so  long  thought  lost,  dead,  were 
coming  even  now  with  their  own  story,  with  their 
proofs.  The  boats  had  passed  Charette,  had  passed 
Belle  fontaine,  and  presently  would  be  pulling  up  the 
river  to  the  water  front  of  St.  Louis  itself. 

"Run,  boys !"  cried  Pierre  Chouteau  to  his  servants. 
"Call  out  the  people !  Tell  them  to  ring  the  bells — tell 
them  to  fire  the  guns  at  the  fort  yonder.  Captains 
Lewis  and  Clark  have  come  back  again — those  who 
were  dead!" 

The  little  settlement  was  afire  upon  the  instant. 
Laughing,  talking,  ejaculating,  weeping  in  their  joy, 
the  people  of  St.  Louis  hurried  out  to  meet  the  men 
whose  voyage  meant  so  much. 

At  last  they  saw  them  coming,  the  paddles  flashing 
in  unison  in  the  horny  hands  which  tirelessly  drove 
the  boats  along  the  river.  They  could  see  them — men 
with  long  beards,  clad  in  leggings  of  elk  hide,  mocca- 

292 


THE    NEWS 

sins  of  buffalo  and  deer;  their  head-dresses  those  of 
the  Indians,  their  long  hair  braided.  And  see,  in  the 
prow  of  the  foremost  craft  sat  two  men,  side  by  side — 
Lewis  and  Clark,  the  two  friends  who  had  arisen  as  if 
from  the  grave! 

"Present  arms !"  rang  out  a  sharp  command,  as  the 
boats  lined  up  along  the  wharf. 

The  brown  and  scarred  rifles  came  to  place. 

"Aim!     Fire!" 

The  volley  of  salutation  blazed  out  even  with  the 
chorus  of  the  voyageurs'  cheers.  And  cheers  repeated 
and  unceasing  greeted  them  as  they  stepped  from  their 
boats  to  the  wharf.  In  an  instant  they  were  half 
overpowered. 

"Come  with  me!" 

"No,  with  me!" 

"With  me!" 

A  score  of  eager  voices  of  the  first  men  of  St.  Louis 
claimed  the  privilege  of  hospitality  for  them.  It  was 
almost  by  force  that  Pierre  Chouteau  bore  them  away 
to  his  castle  on  the  hill.  And  always  questions, 
questions,  came  upon  them — ejaculations,  exclama 
tions. 

"Ma  foil"  exclaimed  more  than  one  pretty  French 
maiden.  "Such  men — such  splendid  men — savages, 
yet  white!  See!  See!" 

They  had  gone  away  as  youths,  these  two  captains; 
they  had  come  back  men.  Four  thousand  miles  out 
and  back  they  had  gone,  over  a  country  unmapped,  un 
known;  and  they  brought  back  news — news  of  great, 
new  lands.  Was  it  any  wonder  that  they  stood  now, 

293 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

grave  and  dignified,  feeling  almost  for  the  first  time 
the  weight  of  what  they  had  done? 

They  passed  over  the  boat-landing  and  across  the 
wharf,  approaching  the  foot  of  the  rocky  bluff  above 
which  lay  the  long  street  of  St.  Louis.  Silent,  as  was 
his  wont,  Meriwether  Lewis  had  replied  to  most  of 
the  greetings  only  with  the  smile  which  so  lighted  up 
his  face.  But  now,  suddenly,  he  ceased  even  to  smile. 
His  eye  rested  not  upon  the  faces  of  those  acclaiming 
friends,  but  upon  something  else  beyond  them. 

Yes,  there  it  was — the  old  fur-shed,  the  storage- 
house  of  the  traders  here  on  the  wharf,  just  as  he  had 
left  it  two  years  before !  The  door  was  closed.  What 
lay  beyond  it? 

Lewis  shuddered,  as  if  caught  with  chill,  as  he 
looked  at  yonder  door.  Just  there  she  had  stood, 
more  than  two  years  ago,  when  he  started  out  on  this 
long  journey.  There  he  had  kissed  that  face  which  he 
had  left  in  tears — he  saw  it  now !  All  the  glory  of  his 
safe  return,  all  the  wonderful  results  which  it  must 
mean,  he  would  have  given  now,  could  he  have  had 
back  that  picture  for  a  different  making. 

"My  matches — my  thermometers — my  instruments 
— how  did  they  perform?" 

The  speaker  was  Dr.  Saugrain,  eager  to  meet  again 
his  friends. 

"Perfect,  doctor,  perfect!  We  have  some  of  the 
matches  yet.  As  to  the  thermometers,  we  broke  the 
last  one  before  we  reached  the  sea." 

"You  found  the  sea?    Mon  Dieu!" 

"We  found  the  Pacific.  We  found  the  Columbia, 
294 


THE    NEWS 

the  Yellowstone — many  new  rivers.  We  have  found 
a  new  continent — made  a  new  geography.  We  passed 
the  head  of  the  Missouri.  We  found  three  great 
mountain  ranges." 

"The  beaver — did  you  find  the  beaver  yonder  ?"  de 
manded  the  voice  of  a  swarthy  man  who  had  attended 
them. 

It  was  Manuel  Liza,  fur-trader,  his  eyes  glowing 
in  his  interest  in  that  reply. 

"Beaver?"  William  Clark  waved  a  hand.  "How 
many  I  could  not  tell  you !  Thousands  and  millions — 
more  beaver  than  ever  were  known  in  the  world  be 
fore.  Millions  of  buffalo — elk  in  droves — bears  such 
as  you  never  saw — antelope,  great  horned  sheep,  ot 
ters,  muskrat,  mink — the  greatest  fur  country  in  all 
the  world.  We  could  not  tell  you  half !" 

"Your  men,  will  they  be  free  to  make  return  up  the 
river  with  trading  parties  ?" 

William  Clark  smiled  at  trie  keenness  of  the  old 
French  trader. 

"You  could  not  possibly  have  better  men,"  said  he. 

The  men  themselves  shook  their  heads  in  despair. 
Yes,  they  said,  they  had  found  a  thousand  miles  of 
country  ready  to  be  plowed.  They  had  found  any 
quantity  of  hardwood  forests  and  pine  groves.  They 
had  seen  rivers  packed  with  fish  until  they  were  half 
solid — more  fish  than  ever  were  in  all  the  world  before. 
They  had  found  great  rivers  which  led  far  back  to 
the  heart  of  the  continent.  They  had  seen  trees  larger 
than  any  man  ever  had  seen — so  large  that  they  hardly 
could  be  felled  by  an  ax. 

20  295 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

They  had  found  a  country  where  in  the  winter  men 
perished,  and  another  where  the  winters  were  not  cold, 
and  where  the  bushes  grew  high  as  trees.  They  had 
found  all  manner  of  new  animals  never  known  before 
— in  short,  a  new  world.  How  could  they  tell  of  it? 

"Captain,"  inquired  Chouteau  at  length,  "your  lug 
gage,  your  boxes — where  are  they?" 

Meriwether  Lewis  pointed  to  a  skin  parfleche  and  a 
knotted  bandanna  handkerchief  which  George  Shannon 
carried  for  him. 

"That  is  all  I  have  left,"  said  he.  "But  the  mail 
for  the  East — the  mail,  M.  Chouteau — we  must  get 
word  to  the  President !" 

"The  President  has  long  ago  been  advised  of  your 
death,"  said  Chouteau,  laughing.  "All  the  world  has 
said  good-by  to  you.  No  doubt  you  can  read  your 
own  obituaries." 

"We  bring  them  better  news  than  that.  What  news 
for  us  ?"  asked  the  two  captains  of  their  host. 

"News!"  The  voluble  Frenchman  threw  up  his 
hands.  "Nothing  but  news!  The  entire  world  is 
changed  since  you  left.  I  could  not  tell  you  in  a  month. 
The  Burr  duel " 

"Yes,  we  did  not  know  of  it  for  two  years,"  said 
William  Clark.  "We  have  just  heard  about  it,  up 
river." 

"The  killing  of  Mr.  Hamilton  ended  the  career  of 
Colonel  Burr,"  said  Chouteau.  "But  for  that  we 
might  have  different  times  here  in  Mississippi.  He 
had  many  friends.  But  you  have  heard  the  last  news 
regarding  him?" 

296 


THE    NEWS 

It  was  the  dark  eye  of  Meriwether  Lewis  which 
now  compelled  his  attention. 

"No?  Well,  he  came  out  here  through  this  coun 
try  once  more.  He  was  arrested  last  summer,  on  the 
Natchez  Trace,  and  carried  off  to  Washington.  The 
charge  is  treason  against  his  government.  The  coun 
try  is  full  of  it — his  trial  is  to  be  at  Richmond.  Even 
now  it  may  be  going  on." 

He  did  not  notice  the  sudden  change  in  Meriwether 
Lewis's  face. 

"And  all  the  world  is  swimming  in  blood  across  the 
sea,"  went  on  their  garrulous  informant.  "Napoleon 
and  Great  Britain  are  at  war  again.  Were  it  not  so, 
one  or  the  other  of  them  would  be  at  the  gates  of  New 
Orleans,  that  is  sure.  This  country  is  still  discon 
tented.  There  was  much  in  the  plan  of  Colonel  Burr 
to  separate  this  valley  into  a  country  of  its  own,  inde 
pendent — to  force  a  secession  from  the  republic,  even 
though  by  war  on  the  flag.  Indeed,  he  was  prepared 
for  that;  but  now  his  conspiracy  is  done.  Perhaps, 
however,  you  do  not  hold  with  the  theory  of  Colonel 
Burr?" 

"Hold  with  the  theory  of  Colonel  Burr,  sir?"  ex 
claimed  the  deep  voice  of  Meriwether  Lewis.  "Hold 
with  it?  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  known  what  it 
was.  It  was  treason!  If  he  had  any  join  him,  that 
was  in  treason!  He  sought  to  disrupt  this  country? 
Agree  with  him?  What  is  this  you  tell  me?  I  had 
never  dreamed  such  a  thing  as  possible  of  him !" 

"He  had  many  friends,"  went  on  Chouteau;  "very 
many  friends.  They  are  scattered  even  now  all  up 

297 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

and  down  this  country — men  who  will  not  give  up  their 
cause.  All  those  men  needed  was  a  leader." 

"But,  M.  Chouteau,"  rejoined  Lewis,  "I  do  not 
understand — II  cannot !  What  Colonel  Burr  attempted 
was  an  actual  treason  to  this  republic.  I  find  it  diffi 
cult  to  believe  that !" 

Chouteau  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"There  may  be  two  names  for  it,"  he  said. 

"And  every  one  asked  to  join  the  cause  was  asked 
to  join  in  treason  to  his  country.  Is  it  not  so?"  Lewis 
went  on. 

"There  may  be  two  names  for  it,"  smiled  the  other, 
still  shrugging. 

"He  was  my  friend,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis.  "I 
trusted  him !" 

"Always,  I  repeat,  there  are  two  names  for  treason. 
But  what  puzzles  me  is  this,"  Chouteau  continued. 
"What  halted  the  cause  of  Colonel  Burr  here  in  the 
West?  He  seemed  to  be  upon  the  point  of  success. 
His  organization  was  complete — his  men  were  in  New 
Orleans — he  had  great  lands  purchased  as  a  rendezvous 
below.  He  had  understandings  with  foreign  powers, 
that  is  sure.  Well,  then,  here  is  Colonel  Burr  at  St. 
Louis,  all  his  plans  arranged.  He  is  ready  to  march,  to 
commence  his  campaign,  to  form  this  valley  into  a  great 
kingdom,  with  Mexico  as  part  of  it.  He  was  a  man 
able  to  make  plans,  believe  me.  But  of  all  this  there 
comes — nothing !  Why  ?  At  the  last  point  something 
failed — no  one  knew  what.  He  waited  for  some 
thing — no  one  knew  what.  Something  lacked — no 
one  can  tell  what.  And  all  the  time — this  is  most  curi- 

298 


THE    NEWS 

cms  to  me — I  learned  it  through  others — Colonel  Burr 
was  eager  to  hear  something  of  the  expedition  of 
Lewis  and  Clark  into  the  West  Why?  No  one 
knows !  Does  no  one  know  ?" 

The  captain  did  not  speak,  and  Chouteau  presently 
went  on. 

"Why  did  Colonel  Burr  hesitate,  why  did  he  give  up 
his  plans  here — why,  indeed,  did  he  fail?  You  ask 
me  why  these  things  were?  I  say,  it  was  because  of 
you — messieurs,  you  two  young  men,  with  your  Lewis 
and  Clark  Expedition !  It  was  you  who  broke  the  Burr 
Conspiracy — for  so  they  call  it  in  these  days.  Mes 
sieurs,  that  is  your  news !" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  GUESTS  OF  A  NATION 

ATTENTION,  men!" 
The  company  of  Volunteers   for  the  Dis 
covery  of  the  West  fell  into  line  in  front  of 
the  stone  fortress  of  old  St.  Louis.     A  motley  crew 
they  looked  in  their  half-savage  garb.     They  were 
veterans,  fit  for  any  difficult  undertaking  in  the  wilder 
ness.     Shoulder  to  shoulder  they  had  labored  in  the 
great  enterprise.     Now  they  were  to  disband. 

Their  leaders  had  laid  aside  the  costume  of  the 
frontier  and  assumed  the  uniforms  of  officers  in  the 
army  of  the  United  States.  Fresh  from  his  barber 
and  his  tailor,  Captain  Lewis  stood,  tall,  clean-limbed, 
immaculate,  facing  his  men.  His  beard  was  gone,  his 
face  showed  paler  where  it  had  been  reaped.  His 
hair,  grown  quite  long,  and  done  now  in  formal  cue, 
hung  low  upon  his  shoulders.  In  every  line  a  gentle 
man,  an  officer,  and  a  thoroughbred,  he  no  longer 
bore  any  trace  of  the  wilderness.  Love,  confidence, 
admiration — these  things  showed  in  the  faces  of  his 
men  as  their  eyes  turned  to  him. 

"Men,"  said  he,  "you  are  to  be  mustered  out  today. 
There  will  be  given  to  each  of  you  a  certificate  of  serv- 

300 


THE    GUESTS    OF   A   NATION 

ice  in  this  expedition.  It  will  entitle  you  to  three 
hundred  and  twenty  acres  of  land,  to  be  selected  where 
you  like  west  of  the  Mississippi  River.  You  will  have 
double  pay  in  gold  as  well;  but  it  is  not  only  in  this 
way  that  we  seek  to  show  appreciation  of  your 
services. 

"We  have  concluded  a  journey  of  considerable 
length  and  importance.  Between  you  and  your  officers 
there  have  been  such  relations  as  only  could  have  made 
successful  a  service  so  extraordinary  as  ours  has  been. 
In  our  reports  to  our  own  superior  officers  we  shall 
have  no  words  save  those  of  praise  for  any  of  you.  Our 
expedition  has  succeeded.  To  that  success  you  have 
all  contributed.  Your  officers  thank  you. 

"Captain  Clark  will  give  you  your  last  command, 
men.  As  I  say  farewell  to  you,  I  trust  I  may  not  be 
taken  to  mean  that  I  separate  myself  from  you  in  my 
thoughts  or  memories.  If  I  can  ever  be  of  service  to 
any  of  you,  you  will  call  upon  me  freely." 

He  turned  and  stepped  aside.  His  place  was  taken 
by  his  associate,  William  Clark,  likewise  a  soldier,  an 
officer,  properly  attired,  and  all  the  figure  of  a  proper 
man.  Clark's  voice  rang  sharp  and  clear. 

"Attention!     Aim — fire!     Break  ranks — march!" 

The  last  volley  of  the  gallant  little  company  was 
fired.  The  last  order  had  been  given  and  received. 
With  a  sweep  of  his  drawn  sword,  Captain  Clark  dis 
missed  them.  The  expedition  was  done. 

So  now  they  went  their  way,  most  of  them  into 
oblivion,  great  though  their  services  had  been.  For 
their  officers  much  more  remained  to  do. 

301 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

The  progress  to  Washington  was  a  triumph.  Every 
where  their  admiring  countrymen  were  excited  over 
their  marvelous  journey.  They  were  feted  and  honor 
ed  at  every  turn.  The  country  was  ringing  with  their 
praises  from  the  Mississippi  to  the  Atlantic  as  the  news 
spread  eastward  just  ahead  of  them. 

When  at  last  they  finished  their  adieux  to  the  kindly 
folk  of  St.  Louis,  who  scarce  would  let  them  go,  they 
took  boat  across  the  river  to  the  old  Kaskaskia  trail, 
and  crossed  the  Illinois  country  by  horse  to  the  Falls 
of  the  Ohio,  where  the  family  of  William  Clark  await 
ed  him.  Here  was  much  holiday,  be  sure ;  but  not  even 
here  did  they  pause  long,  for  they  must  be  on  their 
way  to  meet  their  chief  at  Washington. 

Their  little  cavalcade,  growing  larger  now,  passed 
on  across  Kentucky,  over  the  gap  in  the  Cumberlands, 
down  into  the  country  of  the  Virginia  gentry.  Here 
again  they  were  feted  and  dined  and  wined  so  long  as 
they  would  tarry.  It  was  specially  difficult  for  them 
to  leave  Colonel  Hancock,  at  Fincastle.  Here  they 
must  pause  and  tell  how  they  had  named  certain  rivers 
in  the  West — the  one  for  Maria  Woods;  another  for 
Judith  Hancock — the  Maria's  and  Judith  Rivers  of 
our  maps  today. 

Here  William  Clark  delayed  yet  a  time.  He  found 
in  the  charms  of  the  fair  Judith  herself  somewhat  to 
give  him  pause.  Soon  he  was  to  take  her  as  his  bride 
down  the  Ohio  to  yonder  town  of  St.  Louis,  for  whose 
fame  he  had  done  so  much,  and  was  to  do  so  much 
more. 

Toward  none  of  the  fair  maids  who  now  flocked 
302 


THE    GUESTS    OF    A    NATION 

about  them  could  Meriwether  Lewis  be  more  than  smil 
ing  gallant,  though  rumors  ran  that  either  he  or  Wil 
liam  Clark  might  well-nigh  take  his  pick.  He  was 
alike  to  all  of  them  in  his  courtesy. 

One  thought  of  eager  and  unalloyed  joy  rested  with 
him.  He  was  soon  to  see  his  mother.  In  time  he 
rode  down  from  the  hilltops  of  old  Albemarle  to  the 
point  beyond  the  Ivy  Depot  where  rose  the  gentle  emi 
nence  of  Locust  Hill,  the  plantation  of  the  Lewis 
family. 

Always  in  the  afternoon,  in  all  weathers,  his  mother 
sat  looking  down  the  long  lane  to  the  gate,  as  if  she 
expected  that  one  day  a  certain  figure  would  appear. 
Sometimes,  old  as  she  was,  she  dozed  and  dreamed — 
just  now  she  had  done  so.  She  awoke,  and  saw  stand 
ing  before  her,  as  if  pictured  in  her  dream,  the  form 
of  her  son,  in  bodily  presence,  although  at  first  she  did 
not  accept  him  as  such. 

"My  son!"  said  she  at  length,  half  as  much  in  ter 
ror  as  in  joy.  "Merne!" 

He  stooped  down  and  took  her  grayed  head  in  his 
hands  as  she  looked  up  at  him.  She  recalled  other 
times  when  he  had  come  from  the  forest,  from  the 
wilderness,  bearing  trophies  in  his  hands.  He  bore 
now  trophies  greater,  perhaps,  than  any  man  of  his 
age  ever  had  brought  home  with  him.  What  Wash 
ington  had  defended  was  not  so  great  as  that  which 
Lewis  won.  It  required  them  both  to  make  an  Amer 
ica  for  us  haggling  and  unworthy  followers. 

"My  son!"  was  all  she  could  say.  "They  told  me 
that  you  never  would  come  back,  that  you  were  dead. 

303 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

I  thought  the  wilderness  had  claimed  you  at  last, 
Merne!" 

"I  told  you  I  should  come  back  to  you  safe,  mother. 
There  was  no  danger  at  any  time.  From  St.  Louis  I 
have  come  as  fast  as  any  messenger  could  have  come. 
Next  I  must  go  to  see  Mr.  Jefferson  at  Washington — 
then,  back  home  again  to  talk  with  you,  for  long,  long 
hours." 

"And  what  have  you  found?" 

"More  than  I  can  tell  you  in  a  year!  We  found  the 
mysterious  river,  the  Columbia — found  where  it  runs 
into  the  ocean,  where  it  starts  in  the  mountains.  We 
found  the  head  of  the  Missouri — the  Ohio  is  but  a 
creek  beside  it.  We  crossed  plains  and  mountains 
more  wonderful  than  any  we  have  ever  dreamed  of. 
We  saw  the  most  wonderful  land  in  all  the  world, 
mother — and  we  made  it  ours!" 

"And  you  did  that  ?  Merne,  was  that  why  the  wild 
erness  called  to  you ?  My  boy  has  done  all  that?  Your 
country  will  reward  you.  I  should  not  complain  of  all 
these  years  of  absence.  You  are  happy  now,  are  you 
not?" 

"I  should  be  the  happiest  of  men.  I  can  take  to  Mr. 
Jefferson,  our  best  friend,  the  proof  that  he  was  right 
in  his  plans.  His  great  dream  has  come  true,  and  I 
in  some  part  helped  to  make  it  true.  Should  I  not  now 
be  happy?" 

"You  should  be,  Merne,  but  are  you  ?" 

"I  am  well,  and  I  find  you  still  well  and  strong. 
My  friend,  Will  Clark,  has  come  back  with  me  hearty 
as  a  boy.  Everything  has  been  fortunate  with  us. 

304 


THE    GUESTS    OF    A    NATION 

Look  at  me,"  he  demanded,  turning  and  stretching  out 
his  mighty  arms.  "I  am  strong.  My  men  all  came 
through  without  loss  or  injury — the  splendid  fellows! 
It  is  wonderful  that  in  risks  such  as  ours  we  met  with 
no  ill  fortune." 

"Yes,  but  are  you  happy?    Turn  your  face  to  me." 

But  he  did  not  turn  his  face. 

"I  told  my  friend,  William  Clark,"  he  said  lightly, 
as  he  rose,  "to  join  me  here  after  an  hour  or  so.  I 
think  I  see  his  party  coming  now.  York  rides  ahead, 
do  you  see?  He  is  a  free  negro  now — he  will  have 
stories  enough  to  set  all  our  blacks  idle  for  a  month. 
I  must  go  down  to  meet  Will  and  our  other  guests." 

William  Clark,  bubbling  over  with  his  own  joy  of 
life,  set  all  the  household  in  a  whirl.  There  was  noth 
ing  but  cooking,  festivity,  dancing,  hilarity,  so  long  as 
he  remained  at  Locust  Hill. 

But  the  mother  of  Meriwether  Lewis  looked  with 
jealous  eye  on  William  Clark.  Success,  glory,  honor, 
fame,  reward — these  now  belonged  to  Meriwether 
Lewis,  to  them  both,  his  mother  knew.  But  why  did 
not  his  laugh  sound  high  like  that  of  his  friend  ?  Her 
eyes  followed  her  son  daily,  hourly,  until  at  last  she 
surrendered  him  to  his  duty  when  he  declared  he  could 
no  longer  delay  his  journey  to  Washington. 

Spick  and  span,  cap-a-pie,  pictures  of  splendid  young 
manhood,  the  two  captains  rode  one  afternoon  up  to 
the  great  gate  before  the  mansion  house  of  the  nation. 
Lewis  looked  about  him  at  scenes  once  familiar;  but 
in  the  three  years  and  a  half  since  he  had  seen  it  last 
the  raw  town  had  changed  rapidly. 

305 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Workmen  had  done  somewhat  upon  the  Capitol 
building  yonder,  certain  improvements  had  been  made 
about  the  Executive  Mansion  itself;  but  the  old  negro 
men  at  the  gate  and  at  the  door  of  the  house  were  just 
as  he  had  left  them.  And  when,  running  on  ahead  of 
his  companion,  he  knocked  at  Mr.  Jefferson's  office 
door — flinging  it  open,  as  he  did  so,  with  the  freedom 
of  his  old  habit — he  looked  in  upon  a  familiar  sight. 

Thomas  Jefferson  was  sitting  bent  over  his  desk,  as 
usual  littered  with  a  thousand  papers.  The  long  frame 
of  his  multigraph  copying-machine  was  at  one  side. 
Folded  documents  lay  before  him,  unfinished  briefs 
upon  the  other  side ;  a  rack  of  goose  quills  and  an  open 
inkpot  stood  beyond.  And  on  the  top  of  the  desk, 
spread  out  long  and  over  all,  lay  a  great  map,  whose 
identity  these  two  young  men  easily  could  tell — the 
Lewis  and  Clark  map  sent  back  from  the  Mandan 
country!  Thomas  Jefferson  had  kept  it  at  his  desk 
every  day  since  it  had  come  to  him,  more  than  two 
years  before. 

He  turned  now  toward  the  door,  casually,  for  he 
was  used  to  the  interruptions  of  his  servants.  What 
he  saw  brought  him  to  his  feet.  He  spread  out  his 
arms  impulsively — he  shook  the  hand  of  each  in  turn, 
drew  them  to  him  before  he  motioned  them  to  seats. 
Never  had  Meriwether  Lewis  seen  such  emotion  dis 
played  by  his  chief. 

"I  could  hardly  wait  for  you!"  said  Mr.  Jefferson. 
He  began  to  pace  up  and  down.  "I  knew  it,  I  knew 
it!"  he  exclaimed.  "Now  they  will  call  us  constitu 
tional,  perhaps,  since  we  have  added  a  new  world  to 

306 


THE    GUESTS    OF    A    NATION 

our  country !  My  son,  that  was  our  vision.  You  have 
proved  it.  You  have  been  both  dreamer  and  doer!" 

He  came  up  and  placed  a  half  playful  hand  on  Meri- 
wether  Lewis's  shoulder. 

"Did  I  know  men,  then?"  he  demanded. 

"And  did  I,  Mr.  Jefferson?    Captain  Clark " 

"You  do  not  say  the  title  correctly!  It  is  not  Cap 
tain  Clark,  it  is  not  Captain  Lewis,  that  stand  before 
me  now.  You  are  to  have  sixteen  hundred  acres  of 
land,  each  of  you.  You,  my  son,  will  be  Governor 
Lewis  of  the  new  Territory  of  Louisiana;  and  your 
friend  is  not  Captain  Clark  but  General  Clark,  agent 
of  all  the  Indian  tribes  of  the  West!" 

In  silence  the  hand  of  each  of  the  young  men  went 
out  to  the  President.  Then  their  own  eyes  met,  and 
their  hands.  They  were  not  to  be  separated  after  all 
— they  were  to  work  together  yonder  in  St.  Louis ! 

"Governor— General — I  welcome  you  back!  You 
will  come  back  to  your  old  rooms  here  in  my  family, 
Merne,  and  we  will  find  a  place  for  your  friend.  What 
we  have  here  is  at  the  service  of  both  of  you.  You  are 
the  guests  of  the  nation !" 


CHAPTER  XV 
MR.  JEFFERSON'S  ADVICE 

MERNE,  my  boy/'  said  Thomas  Jefferson,  when 
at  length  they  two  were  alone  once  more 
in  the  little  office,  "I  cannot  say  what  your 
return  means  to  me.  You  come  as  one  from  the  grave 
— you  resurrect  another  from  the  grave." 

"Meaning,  Mr.  Jefferson? " 

"You  surely  have  heard  that  my  administration  is 
in  sad  disrepute?  There  is  no  man  in  the  country 
hated  so  bitterly  as  myself.  We  are  struggling  on 
the  very  verge  of.  war." 

"I  heard  some  talk  in  the  West,  Mr.  Jefferson," 
hesitated  Meriwether  Lewis. 

"Yes,"  they  called  this  Louisiana  Purchase,  on 
which  I  had  set  my  heart,  nothing  but  extravagance. 
The  machinations  of  Colonel  Burr  have  added  nothing 
to  its  reputation.  General  Jackson  is  with  Burr,  and 
many  other  strong  friends.  And  meantime  you  know 
wrhere  Burr  himself  is — in  the  Richmond  jail.  I  un 
derstand  that  his  friend,  Mr.  Merry,  has  gone  yonder 
to  visit  him.  Our  country  is  degenerated  to  be  no 
more  than  a  scheming-ground,  a  plotting-place,  for 
other  powers.  You  come  back  just  in  the  nick  of  time. 

308 


MR.    JEFFERSON'S    ADVICE 

You  have  saved  this  administration !  You  bring  back 
success  with  you.  If  the  issue  of  your  expedition  were 
anything1  else,  I  scarce  know  what  would  be  my  own 
case  here.  For  myself,  that  would  have  mattered  lit 
tle  ;  but  as  to  this  country  for  which  I  have  planned  so 
much,  your  failure  would  have  cost  us  all  the  Missis 
sippi  Valley,  besides  all  the  valley  of  the  Missouri  and 
the  Columbia.  Yes,  had  you  not  succeeded,  Aaron 
Burr  would  have  succeeded !  Instead  of  a  great  repub 
lic  reaching  from  ocean  to  ocean,  we  should  have  had 
a  scattered  coterie  of  States  of  no  endurance,  no  con 
tinuity,  no  power.  Thank  God  for  the  presence  of  one 
great,  splendid  thing  gloriously  done!  You  cannot, 
do  not,  begin  to  measure  its  importance." 

"We  are  glad  that  you  have  been  pleased,  Mr.  Jef 
ferson,"  said  Lewis  simply. 

"Pleased!  Pleased!  Say  rather  that  I  am  saved! 
Say  rather  that  this  country  is  saved !  Had  you  proved 
disloyal  to  me — had  you  for  any  cause  turned  back," 
he  went  on,  "think  what  had  been  the  result !  What  a 
load,  although  you  knew  it  not,  was  placed  on  your 
shoulders!  Suppose  that  you  had  turned  back  on  the 
trail  last  year,  or  the  summer  before — suppose  you  had 
not  gotten  beyond  the  Mandans — can  you  measure  the 
difference  for  this  republic?  Can  you  begin  to  see 
what  responsibility  rested  on  you?  Had  you  failed, 
you  would  have  dragged  the  flag  of  your  country  in 
the  dust.  Had  you  come  back  any  time  before  you 
did,  then  you  might  have  called  yourself  the  man  who 
ruined  his  President,  his  friend,  his  country !" 

"And  I  nearly  did,  Mr.  Jefferson!"  broke  out  Meri- 

309 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

wether  Lewis.  "Do  not  praise  me  too  much.  I  was 
tempted " 

The  old  man  turned  toward  him,  his  face  grave. 

"You  are  honest!  I  value  that  above  all  in  you — 
you  are  punctilious  to  have  no  praise  not  honestly  won. 
Listen,  now !"  He  leaned  toward  the  young  man,  who 
sat  beside  him.  "I  know — I  knew  all  along — how  you 
were  tempted.  She  came  here — Theodosia — the  very 
day  you  left!" 

Lewis  nodded,  mute. 

"In  some  way,  I  knew,  the  conspirators  fought 
against  your  success  and  mine.  I  knew  what  agencies 
they  intended  to  use  against  you — it  was  this  woman ! 
Had  you  failed,  I  should  have  known  why.  I  know 
many  things,  whether  or  not  you  do.  I  know  the 
character  of  Aaron  Burr  well  enough.  He  has  been 
crazed,  carried  away  by  his  own  ambitions — God 
alone  knows  where  he  would  have  stopped.  He  has 
been  a  man  not  surpassed  in  duplicity.  He  would  stop 
at  nothing.  Moreover,  he  could  make  black  look 
white.  He  did  so  for  his  daughter.  She  believed  in 
him  absolutely.  And  knowing  somewhat  of  his  plans, 
I  imagined  that  he  would  use  the  attraction  of  that 
young  lady  for  you — the  power  which,  all  things  con 
sidered,  she  might  be  supposed  to  possess  with  you. 
I  knew  the  depth  of  your  regard  for  her,  the  deeper 
for  its  hopelessness.  And  more  than  all,  I  knew  the 
intentness  and  resolution  of  your  character.  It  was 
one  motive  against  the  other !  Which  was  the  strong 
er?  You  were  a  young  man — the  hot  blood  of  youth 
was  yours,  and  I  know  its  power.  Had  the  woman 

310 


MR.    JEFFERSON'S    ADVICE 

not  been  married,  I  should  have  lost!  You  would 
have  sold  a  crown  for  her.  It  was  honor  saved  you — 
your  personal  honor — that  was  what  brought  us  suc 
cess.  No  country  is  bigger  than  the  personal  honor 
of  its  gentlemen." 

The  bowed  head  of  Meriwether  Lewis  was  his  only 
answer.  The  keen-faced  old  man  went  on : 

"I  knew  that  before  you  had  left  the  mouth  of  the 
Ohio  River  he  would  do  his  best  to  stop  you — I  knew 
it  before  you  had  left  Harper's  Ferry ;  but  I  placed  the 
issue  in  the  lap  of  the  gods.  I  applied  to  you  all  the 
tests — the  severest  tests — that  one  man  can  to  another. 
I  let  you  alone!  For  a  year,  two  years,  three  years, 
I  did  not  know.  But  now  I  do  know ;  and  the  answer 
is  yonder  flag  which  you  have  carried  from  one  ocean 
to  the  other.  The  answer  is  in  this  map,  all  these  hides 
scrawled  in  coal — all  those  new  thousands  of  miles  of 
land — our  land.  God  keep  it  safe  for  us  always !  And 
may  the  people  one  day  know  who  really  secured  it  for 
them!  It  was  not  so  much  Thomas  Jefferson  as  it 
was  Meriwether  Lewis. 

"Each  time  I  dreamed  that  my  subtle  enemies  were 
tempting  you,  I  prayed  in  my  own  soul  that  you  would 
be  strong;  that  you  would  go  on;  that  you  would  be 
loyal  to  your  duty,  no  matter  what  the  cost.  God  an 
swered  those  prayers,  my  boy!  Whatever  was  your 
need,  whatever  price  you  paid,  you  did  what  I  prayed 
you  would  do.  When  the  months  passed  and  you  did 
not  come  back,  I  knew  that  not  even  the  woman  you 
loved  could  have  called  you  back.  I  knew  that  you  had 
learned  the  priceless  lesson  of  renunciation,  of  sacri- 
21 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

fice,  through  which  alone  the  great  deeds  of  the  world 
always  have  been  done." 

Meriwether  Lewis  stood  before  his  chief,  cold  and 
pale,  unable  to  complete  much  speech.  Thomas  Jeffer 
son  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  before  he  went  on. 

"My  boy,  you  are  so  simple  that  you  will  not  under' 
stand.  You  do  not  understand  how  well  I  understand 
you !  These  things  are  not  done  without  cost.  If  there 
was  punishment  for  you,  you  took  that  punishment — 
or  you  will!  You  kept  your  oath  as  an  officer  and 
your  unwritten  oath  as  a  gentleman.  It  is  a  great  thing 
for  a  man  to  have  his  honor  altogether  unsullied." 

"Mr.  Jefferson!"  The  young  man  before  him  lifted 
a  hand.  His  face  was  ghastly  pale.  "Do  not/'  said 
he.  "Do  not,  I  beg  of  you !" 

"What  is  it,  Merne?"  exclaimed  the  old  man. 
"What  have  I  done?" 

"You  speak  of  my  honor.  Do  not!  Indeed,  you 
touch  me  deep." 

Thomas  Jefferson,  wise  old  man,  raised  a  hand. 

"I  shall  never  listen,  my  son,"  said  he.  "I  will  ac 
cord  to  you  the  right  of  hot  blood  to  run  hot — you 
would  not  be  a  man  worth  knowing  were  it  not  so.  All 
I  know  or  will  know  is  that  whatever  the  price,  you 
have  paid  it — or  will  pay  it !  But  tell  me,  Merne,  can 
you  not  tear  her  from  your  soul?  It  will  ruin  you, 
this  hopeless  attachment  which  you  cherish.  Is  it 
always  to  remain  with  you  ?  I  bid  you  find  some  other 
woman.  The  best  in  the  land  are  waiting  for  you." 

"Mr.  Jefferson,  I  shall  never  marry." 

The  two  sat  looking  into  each  other's  eyes  for  just 
312 


MR.    JEFFERSON'S    ADVICE 

a  moment.     Said  Thomas  Jefferson  at  length,  slowly : 

"So!  You  have  come  back  with  all  happiness,  all 
success,  for  me  and  for  others — but  not  for  yourself! 
Such  proving  as  you  have  had  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of 
but  few  men.  I  know  now  how  great  has  been  the 
cost — I  see  it  in  your  face.  The  fifteen  millions  I  paid 
for  yonder  lands  was  nothing.  We  have  bought  them 
with  the  happiness  of  a  human  soul!  The  transient 
gratitude  of  this  republic — the  honor  of  that  little  pa 
per — bah,  they  are  nothing!  But  perhaps  it  may  be 
something  for  you  to  know  that  at  least  one  friend 
understands." 

Lewis  did  not  speak. 

"What  is  lost  is  lost,"  the  President  began  again 
after  a  time.  "What  is  broken  is  broken.  But  see 
how  clearly  I  look  into  your  soul.  You  are  not  think 
ing  now  of  what  you  can  do  for  yourself.  You  are 
not  thinking  of  your  new  rank,  your  honors.  You 
are  asking  now,  at  this  moment,  what  you  can  do  for 
her!  Is  it  not  so?" 

The  smile  that  came  upon  the  young  man's  face  was 
a  beautiful,  a  wonderful  thing  to  see.  It  made  the  wise 
old  man  sad  to  see  it — but  thoughtful,  too. 

"She  is  at  Richmond,  Merne?"  said  Mr.  Jefferson 
a  moment  later. 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"And  the  greatest  boon  she  could  ask  would  be  her 
father's  freedom — the  freedom  of  the  man  who  sought 
to  ruin  this  country — the  man  whom  I  scarcely  dare 
release." 

The  thin  lips  compressed  for  a  moment.    It  was  not 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

in  implacable,  vengeful  zeal — it  was  but  in  thought. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Thomas  Jefferson  sharply,  "there 
comes  a  veil,  a  curtain,  between  you  and  me  and  all 
the  world.  No  record  must  show  that  either  of  us 
raised  a  hand  against  the  full  action  of  the  law,  or 
planned  that  Colonel  Burr  should  not  suffer  the  full 
penalty  of  the  code.  Yes,  for  him  that  is  true — but 
not  for  his  daughter!" 

•'Mr.  Jefferson!"  The  face  of  Meriwether  Lewis 
was  strangely  moved.  "I  see  the  actual  greatness  of 
your  soul;  but  I  ask  nothing." 

"Why,  in  my  heart  I  feel  like  flinging  open  every 
prison  door  in  the  world.  If  you  have  gained  an  em 
pire  for  your  country,  and  paid  for  it  as  you  have, 
could  not  a  great  and  rich  country  afford  to  pay  to  the 
extent  of  a  woman's  happiness?  When  a  king  is 
crowned,  he  sets  free  the  criminals.  And  this  day  I 
feel  as  proud  and  happy  as  if  I  were  a  king — and  king 
of  the  greatest  empire  of  all  the  world !  I  know  well 
who  assured  that  kingdom.  Let  me  be,  then" — he 
raised  his  long  hand — "say  nothing,  do  nothing.  And 
let  this  end  all  talk  between  us  of  these  matters.  I 
know  you  can  keep  your  own  counsel." 

Lewis  bowed  silently. 

"Go  to  Richmond,  Merne.  You  will  find  there  a 
broken  conspirator  and  his  unhappy  daughter.  Both 
are  ostracized.  None  is  so  poor  as  to  do  either  of 
them  reverence.  She  has  no  door  opened  to  her  now, 
though  but  lately  she  was  daughter  of  the  Vice-Presi- 
dent,  the  rich  Mrs.  Alston,  wife  of  the  Governor  of 
her  State.  Go  to  them  now.  Tell  Colonel  Burr  that 


MR.    JEFFERSON'S    ADVICE 

the  President  will  not  ask  mercy  for  him.  John  Mar 
shall  is  on  the  bench  there;  but  before  him  is  a  jury — 
John  Randolph  is  foreman  of  that  jury.  It  is  there 
that  case  will  be  tried — in  the  jury  room;  and  politics 
will  try  it!  Go  to  Theodosia,  Merne,  in  her  desperate 
need." 

"But  what  can  I  do,  Mr.  Jefferson?"  broke  out  his 
listener. 

"Do  precisely  what  I  tell  you.  Go  to  that  social 
outcast.  Take  her  on  your  arm  before  all  the  world — 
and  before  that  jury!  Sit  there,  before  all  Richmond 
— and  that  jury.  An  hour  or  so  will  do.  Do  that,  and 
then,  as  I  did  when  I  trusted  you,  ask  no  questions, 
but  leave  it  on  the  knees  of  the  gods.  If  you  can  call 
me  chief  in  other  matters,"  the  President  concluded, 
"and  can  call  me  chief  in  that  fashion  of  thought  which 
men  call  religion  as  well,  let  me  give  you  unction  and 
absolution,  my  son.  It  is  all  that  I  have  to  give  to  one 
whom  I  have  always  loved  as  if  he  were  my  own  son. 
This  is  all  I  can  do  for  you.  It  may  fail ;  but  I  would 
rather  trust  that  jury  to  be  right  than  trust  myself  to 
day;  because,  I  repeat,  I  feel  like  flinging  open  every 
prison  door  in  all  the  world,  and  telling  every  erring, 
stumbling  man  to  try  once  more  to  do  what  his  soul 
tells  him  he  ought  to  do!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    QUALITY    OF    MERCY 

IN  Richmond  jail  lay  Aaron  Burr,  the  great  con 
spirator,  the  ruins  of  his  ambition  fallen  about 
him.  He  had  found  a  prison  instead  of  a  palace. 
He  was  eager  no  longer  to  gain  a  scepter,  but  only  to 
escape  a  noose. 

The  great  conspiracy  was  at  an  end.  The  only  ques 
tion  was  of  the  punishment  the  accused  should  have — 
for  in  the  general  belief  he  was  certain  of  conviction. 
That  he  never  was  convicted  has  always  been  one  of 
the  most  mysterious  facts  of  a  mysterious  chapter  in 
our  national  development. 

So  crowded  were  the  hostelries  of  Richmond  that 
a  stranger  would  have  had  difficulty  in  finding  lodging 
there  during  the  six  months  of  the  Burr  trial.  Not  so 
with  Meriwether  Lewis,  now  one  of  the  country's  fa 
mous  men.  A  score  of  homes  opened  their  doors  to 
him.  The  town  buzzed  over  his  appearance.  He  had 
once  been  the  friend  of  Burr,  always  the  friend  of 
Jefferson.  To  which  side  now  would  he  lean. 

Luther  Martin,  chief  of  Burr's  counsel,  was  eager 
above  all  to  have  a  word  with  Meriwether  Lewis,  so 
close  to  affairs  in  Washington,  possibly  so  useful  to 

316 


THE    QUALITY    OF    MERCY 

himself.  Washington  Irving,  too,  assistant  to  Martin 
in  the  great  trial,  would  gladly  have  had  talk  with  him. 
All  asked  what  his  errand  might  be.  What  was  the 
leaning  of  the  Governor  of  the  new  Territory,  a  man 
closer  to  the  administration  at  Washington  than  any 
other  ? 

Meriwether  Lewis  kept  his  own  counsel.  He  ar 
ranged  first  to  see  Burr  himself.  The  meagerly  fur 
nished  anteroom  of  the  Federal  prison  in  Richmond 
was  the  discredited  adventurer's  reception-hall  in  those 
days. 

Burr  advanced  to  meet  his  visitor  with  something  of 
his  own  old  haughtiness  of  mien,  a  little  of  the  former 
brilliance  of  his  eye. 

"Governor,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  back  safe  and 
sound  from  your  journey.  My  congratulations,  sir!" 

Meriwether  Lewis  made  no  reply,  but  gazed  at  him 
steadily,  well  aware  of  the  stinging  sarcasm  of  his 
words. 

"I  have  few  friends  now,"  said  Aaron  Burr.  "You 
have  many.  You  are  on  the  flood  tide — it  ebbs  for  me. 
When  one  loses,  what  mercy  is  shown  to  him?  That 
scoundrel  Merry — he  promised  everything  and  gave 
nothing!  Yrujo — he  is  worse  yet  in  his  treachery. 
Even  the  French  minister,  Turreau — who  surely  might 
listen  to  the  wishes  of  the  great  French  population  of 
the  Mississippi  Valley — pays  no  attention  to  their  peti 
tions  whatever,  and  none  to  mine.  These  were  my 
former  friends!  I  promised  them  a  country." 

"You  promised  them  a  country,  Colonel  Burr — from 
what?" 

317 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"From  that  great  ownerless  land  yonder,  the  West. 
But  they  waited  and  waited,  until  your  success  was 
sure.  Why,  that  scoundrel  Merry  is  here  this  very 
day — the  effrontery  of  him!  He  wants  nothing  more 
to  do  with  me.  No,  he  is  here  to  undertake  to  recoup 
himself  in  his  own  losses  by  reasons  of  moneys  he  ad 
vanced  to  me  some  time  ago.  He  is  importuning  my 
son-in-law,  Mr.  Alston,  to  pay  him  back  those  funds — 
which  once  he  was  so  ready  to  furnish  to  us.  But  Mr. 
Alston  is  ruined — I  am  ruined — we  are  all  ruined. 
No,  they  waited  too  long !" 

"They  waited  until  it  was  too  late,  yes,"  Lewis  re 
turned.  "That  country  is  American  now,  not  British 
or  Spanish  or  French.  Our  men  are  passing  across  the 
river  in  thousands.  They  will  never  loose  their  hold 
on  the  West.  It  was  treason  to  the  future  that  you 
planned — but  it  was  hopeless  from  the  first!" 

"It  would  seem,  sir,"  said  Aaron  Burr,  a  cynical 
smile  twisting  his  thin  lip,  "that  I  may  not  count  upon 
your  friendship!" 

"That  is  a  hard  speech,  Colonel  Burr.  I  was  your 
friend." 

"More  than  your  chief  ever  was !  I  fancy  Mr.  Jef 
ferson  would  like  to  see  me  pilloried,  drawn  and  quar 
tered,  after  the  old  way." 

"You  are  unjust  to  him.  You  struck  at  the  greatest 
ambition  of  his  life — struck  at  his  heart  and  the  heart 
of  his  country — when  you  undertook  to  separate  the 
West  from  this  republic." 

"I  am  a  plainsman,  and  a  busy  man,"  said  Aaron 
Burr  coldly.  "I  must  employ  my  time  now  to  the  bet- 


THE    QUALITY    OF    MERCY 

terment  of  my  situation.  I  have  failed,  and  you  have 
won.  But  let  me  throw  the  cloak  aside,  since  I  know 
you  can  be  of  no  service  to  me.  I  care  not  what  pun 
ishment  you  may  have — what  suffering — because  I 
recognize  in  you  the  one  great  cause  of  my  failure. 
It  was  you,  sir,  with  your  cursed  expedition,  that  de 
feated  Aaron  Burr!" 

He  turned,  proud  and  defiant  even  in  his  fail 
ure,  and  when  Meriwether  Lewis  looked  up  he  was 
gone. 

Even  as  Burr  passed,  Meriwether  Lewis  heard  a 
light  step  in  the  long  corridor.  Under  guard  of  the 
turnkey,  some  one  stood  at  the  door.  It  was  the  figure 
of  a  woman — a  figure  which  caused  him  to  halt,  caused 
his  heart  to  leap! 

She  came  toward  him  now,  all  in  mourning  black 
— hat,  gown,  and  gloves.  Her  face  was  pale,  her  eyes 
deep,  her  mouth  drooping.  Theodosia  Alston  was  al 
ways  thus  on  her  daily  visit  to  her  father's  cell. 

Herself  the  picture  of  failure  and  despair,  she  was 
used  to  avoiding  the  eyes  of  all ;  but  she  saw  Meri 
wether  Lewis  standing  before  her,  strong,  tall,  splen 
did  in  his  manhood  and  vigor,  in  the  full  tide  of  his 
success.  She  was  almost  in  touch  of  his  hand  when  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

These  two  had  met  at  last,  after  what  far  wanderings 
apart !  They  had  met  as  if  each  came  from  the  Valley 
of  the  Shadows.  Out  of  the  vastness  of  the  unknown, 
over  all  those  long  and  devious  trails,  into  what  now 
seemed  to  him  a  world  still  more  vast,  more  fraught 
with  desperate  peril,  he  had  come  back  to  her.  And 

319 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

she — what  had  been  her  perils?  What  were  her 
thoughts  ? 

As  his  eye  fell  upon  her,  even  as  his  keen  ear  had 
known  her  coming,  the  hand  of  Meriwether  Lewis  half 
unconsciously  went  to  his  breast.  He  felt  under  it  the 
packet  of  faded  letters  which  he  had  so  long  kept 
with  him — which  in  some  way  he  felt  to  be  his 
talisman. 

Yes,  it  was  for  this  that  he  had  had  them !  His  love 
and  hers — this  had  been  his  shield  through  all.  What 
he  saw  in  her  grave  face,  her  mournful  eyes  uplifted  to 
his  own— this  was  the  solution  of  the  riddle  of  his  life, 
the  reason  for  his  moods  of  melancholy,  the  answer  to 
a  thousand  unspoken  prayers.  He  felt  his  heart  thrill 
strong  and  full,  felt  his  blood  spring  in  strong  current 
through  his  veins,  until  they  strained,  until  he  felt  his 
nerves  tingle  as  he  stood,  silent,  endeavoring  to  still 
the  tumult  within  him,  now  that  he  knew  the  great 
and  satisfying  truth  of  truths. 

To  her  he  was — what?  A  tall  and  handsome  gen 
tleman,  immaculately  clad,  Governor  of  the  newest  of 
our  Territories — the  largest  and  richest  realm  ever  laid 
under  the  rule  of  any  viceroy.  A  bystander  might 
have  pondered  on  such  things,  but  Meriwether  Lewis 
had  no  thought  of  them,  nor  had  the  woman  who 
looked  up  at  him.  No,  to  her  eyes  there  stood  only  the 
man  who  made  her  blood  leap,  her  soul  cry  out : 

"Yea!    Yea!     Now  I  know!" 

To  her  also,  from  the  divine  compassion,  was  given 
answer  for  her  questionings.  She  knew  that  life  for 
her,  even  though  it  ended  now,  had  been  no  blind 

320 


THE    QUALITY    OF    MERCY 

puzzle,  after  all,  but  was  a  glorious  and  perfect  thing. 
She  had  called  to  him  across  the  deep,  and  he  had  heard 
and  come!  From  the  very  grave  itself  he  had  arisen 
and  come  again  to  her ! 

Even  here  under  the  shadow  of  the  gallows — even  if, 
as  both  knew  in  their  supreme  renunciation,  they  must 
part  and  never  meet  again — for  them  both  there  could 
be  peaceful  calm,  with  all  life's  questions  answered, 
beautifully  and  surely  answered,  never  again  to  rise 
for  conquering. 

"Sir — Captain — that  is  to  say,  Governor  Lewis," 
she  corrected  herself,  "I  was  not  expecting  you." 

Her  tone  seemed  icy,  though  her  soul  was  in  her 
eyes.  She  was  all  upon  the  defense,  as  Lewis  instantly 
understood.  He  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his  own,  and 
looked  into  her  face. 

She  gazed  up  at  him,  and  swiftly,  mercifully,  the 
tears  came.  Gently,  as  if  she  had  been  a  child,  he  dried 
them  for  her — as  once  when  a  boy,  he  had  promised 
to  do.  They  were  alone  now.  The  cold  silence  of  the 
prison  was  about  them;  but  their  own  long  silence 
seemed  a  golden,  glowing  thing.  Thus  only — in  their 
silence — could  they  speak.  They  did  not  know  that 
they  stood  hand  in  hand. 

"My  husband  is  not  here/'  said  she  at  length,  gently 
disengaging  her  hand  from  his.  "No  one  knows  me 
now,  every  one  avoids  me.  You  must  not  be  seen  with 
me — a  pariah,  an  outcast!  I  am  my  father's  only 
friend.  Already  they  condemn  him ;  yet  he  is  as  inno 
cent  as  any  man  ever  was." 

"I  shall  say  no  word  to  change  that  belief,"  said 
321 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Meriwether  Lewis.     "But  your  husband  is  not  here? 
It  is  he  whom  I  must  see  at  once." 

"Why  must  you  see  him?" 

"You  must  know !  It  is  my  duty  to  go  to  him  and 
to  tell  him  that  I  am  the  man  who — who  made  you 
weep.  He  must  have  his  satisfaction.  Nothing  that 
he  can  do  will  punish  me  as  my  own  conscience  has 
already  punished  me.  It  is  no  use — I  shall  not  ask  you 
to  forgive  me — I  will  not  be  so  cheap." 

"But — suppose  he  does  not  know?" 

He  could  only  stand  silent,  regarding  her  fixedly. 

"He  must  never  know !"  she  went  on.  "It  is  no  time 
for  quixotism  to  make  yet  another  suffer.  We  two 
must  be  strong  enough  to  carry  our  own  secret.  It  is 
better  and  kinder  that  it  should  be  between  two  than 
among  three.  I  thought  you  dead.  Let  the  past  re 
main  past — let  it  bury  its  own  dead !" 

"It  is  our  time  of  reckoning,"  said  he,  at  length. 
"Guilty  as  I  have  been,  sinning  as  I  have  sinned — tell 
me,  was  I  alone  in  the  wrong?  Listen.  Those  who 
joined  your  father's  cause  were  asked  to  join  in  treason 
to  their  country.  What  he  purposed  was  treason.  Tell 
me,  did  you  know  this  when  you  came  to  me?" 

He  saw  the  quick  pain  upon  her  face,  the  flush 
that  rose  to  her  pale  cheek.  She  drew  herself  up 
proudly. 

"I  shall  not  answer  that!"  said  she. 

"No!"  he  exclaimed,  swiftly  contrite.  "Nor  shall 
I  ask  it.  Forgive  me!  You  never  knew — you  were 
innocent.  You  do  right  not  to  answer  such  a  ques 
tion." 

322 


THE    QUALITY    OF    MERCY 

"I  only  wanted  you  to  be  happy — that  was  my  one 
desire." 

She  looked  aside,  and  a  moment  passed  before  she 
heard  his  deep  voice  reply. 

"Happy!  I  am  the  most  unhappy  man  in  all  the 
world.  Happiness?  No — rags,  shreds,  patches  of 
happiness — that  is  all  that  is  left  of  happiness  for  us, 
as  men  and  women  usually  count  it.  But  tell  me,  what 
would  make  you  most  happy  now,  of  these  things 
remaining?  I  have  come  back  to  pay  my  debts.  Is 
there  anything  I  can  do?  What  would  make  you 
happiest?" 

"My  fathers  freedom!" 

"I  cannot  promise  that;  but  all  that  I  can  do  I  will." 

"Were  my  father  guilty,  that  would  be  the  act  of  a 
noble  mind.  But  how?  You  are  Mr.  Jefferson's 
friend,  not  the  friend  of  Aaron  Burr.  All  the  world 
knows  that." 

"Precisely.  All  the  world  knows  that,  or  thinks  it 
does.  It  thinks  it  knows  that  Mr.  Jefferson  is  im 
placable.  But  suppose  all  the  world  were  set  to 
wondering?  I  am  just  wondering  myself  if  it  would 
be  right  to  suborn  a  juryman,  like  John  Randolph  of 
Roanoke  I"1 


1The  import  of  the  visit  of  Governor  Lewis  and  Mrs. 
Alston  to  the  court-room  during  the  Burr  trial  is  better  con 
veyed  if  there  be  held  in  mind  the  personality  of  that  ec 
centric  and  extraordinary  man,  so  prominent  in  the  history  of 
America  and  the  traditions  of  Virginia — John  Randolph  of 
Roanoke.  Irascible,  high-voiced,  high-headed,  truculent,  in 
solent,  vitriolic — yet  gallant,  courteous,  kind,  just,  and  fair; 
the  enemy  and  the  friend  in  turn  of  almost  every  public  man 

323 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"That  is  impossible.     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean  this.  This  afternoon  you  and  I  will  go 
into  the  trial-room  together.  I  have  not  yet  attended 
a  session  of  the  court.  Today  I  will  hand  you  to 
your  seat  in  full  sight  of  the  jury  box." 

"You — give  your  presence  to  one  who  is  now  a  social 
pariah?  The  ladies  of  Richmond  no  longer  speak  to 
me.  But  to  what  purpose?" 

"Perhaps  to  small  purpose.  I  cannot  tell.  But  let 
us  suppose  that  I  go  with  you,  and  that  we  sit  there  in 
sight  of  all.  I  am  known  to  be  the  intimate  friend  of 
Mr.  Jefferson.  Ergo " 

"Ergo,  Mr.  Jefferson  is  not  hostile  to  us !  And  you 
would  do  that — you  would  take  that  chance?'" 

"For  you." 

And  he  did — for  her!  That  afternoon  all  the 
crowded  court-room  saw  the  beadle  make  way  for  two- 
persons  of  importance.  One  was  a  tall,  grave,  dis 
tinguished-looking  man,  impassive,  calm,  a  man  whose 
face  was  known  to  all — the  new  Governor  of  Louisi 
ana,  viceroy  of  the  country  that  Burr  had  lost.  Upon 


of  his  day ;  truckling  to  none,  defiant  of  all,  sure  to  do  what 
could  not  be  predicted  of  any  other  man — it  was  always  cer 
tain  that  John  Randolph  of  Roanoke  would  do  what  he  liked, 
and  do  what — for  that  present  time — he  fancied  to  be  just. 

Now  the  ardent  adherent,  again  the  bitter  caluminator  of 
Jefferson,  it  would  be  held  probable  that  John  Randolph  of 
Roanoke  would  do  what  he  fancied  Thomas  Jefferson  had 
not  asked  him  to  do,  or  had  asked  him  not  to  do.  But  the 
shrewd  old  man  at  Washington  spoke  advisedly  when  he 
said  that  John  Randolph  of  Roanoke  would  try  the  Burr  case 
in  the  jury-room,  and  himself  preside  as  judge,  counsel,  and 
jury  all  in  one! 

324 


THE    QUALITY   OF   MERCY 

his  arm,  pale,  clad  all  in  black,  walked  the  daughter  of 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar ! 

Was  it  in  defiance  or  in  compliance  that  this  act 
was  done?  Was  it  by  orders,  or  against  orders,  or 
without  orders,  that  the  President's  best  friend  walked 
in  public,  before  all  the  world,  with  the  daughter  of 
the  President's  worst  enemy?  It  was  the  guess  of  any 
body  and  the  query  of  all. 

There,  in  full  view  of  all  the  attendants,  in  full 
view  of  the  jury — and  of  John  Randolph  of  Roanoke, 
its  foreman — sat  the  two  persons  who  had  had  most  to 
do  with  this  scene  of  which  they  now  made  a  part. 
There  sat  the  man  who  had  explored  the  great  West, 
and  the  woman  who  had  done  her  best  to  prevent  that 
exploration;  Mr.  Jefferson's  friend,  and  the  daughter 
of  the  great  conspirator,  Aaron  Burr.  Ergo,  ergo, 
said  many  tongues  swiftly — and  leaned  head  to  head 
to  whisper  it.  Mind  sometimes  speaks  to  mind — even 
across  the  rail  of  a  jury-box.  Sympathy  runs  deep  and 
swift  sometimes.  All  the  world  loved  Meriwether 
Lewis  then,  would  favor  him — or  favor  what  he  fa 
vored. 

The  issue  of  that  great  trial  was  not  to  come  for 
weeks  as  yet ;  but  when  it  came,  and  by  whatever  pro 
cess,  Aaron  Burr  was  acquitted  of  the  charges  brought 
against  him.  The  republic  for  whose  downfall  he  had 
plotted  set  him  free  and  bade  him  begone. 

But  now,  at  the  close  of  this  day,  the  two  central 
figures  of  the  tragic  drama  found  themselves  together 
once  more.  They  could  be  alone  nowhere  but  in  the 
prison  room ;  and  it  was  there  that  they  parted. 

325 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Between  them,  as  they  stood  now  at  last,  about  to 
part,  there  stretched  an  abysmal  gulf  which  might 
never  personally  be  passed  by  either. 

She  faced  him  at  length,  trembling,  pleading,  help 
less. 

"How  mighty  a  thing  is  a  man's  sense  of  honor!" 
she  said  slowly.  "You  have  done  what  I  never  would 
have  asked  you  to  do,  and  I  am  glad  that  you  did.  I 
once  asked  you  to  do  what  you  would  not  do,  and  I 
am  glad  that  you  did  not.  How  can  I  repay  you  for 
what  you  have  done  today?  I  cannot  tell  how,  but  I 
feel  that  you  have  turned  the  tide  for  us.  Ah,  if  ever 
you  felt  that  you  owed  me  anything,  it  is  paid — all 
your  debt  to  me  and  mine.  See,  I  no  longer  weep. 
You  have  dried  my  tears!" 

"We  cannot  balance  debits  and  credits/'  he  replied. 
"There  is  no  way  in  the  world  in  which  you  and  I  can 
cry  quits.  Only  one  thing  is  sure — I  must  go!" 

"I  cannot  say  good-by!"  said  she.  "Ah,  do  not  ask 
me  that !  We  are  but  beginning  now.  Oh,  see !  see !" 

He  looked  at  her  still,  an  unspeakable  sadness  in  his 
gaze — at  her  hand,  extended  pleadingly  toward  him. 

"Won't  you  take  my  hand,  Merne?"  said  she. 
"Won't  you?" 

"I  dare  not,"  said  he  hoarsely.     "No,  I  dare  not !" 

"Why?  Do  you  wish  to  leave  me  still  feeling  that 
I  am  in  your  debt?  You  can  afford  so  much  now," 
she  said  brokenly,  "for  those  who  have  not  won !" 

"Think  you  that  I  have  won  ?"  he  broke  out.  "Theo- 
dosia — Theo — I  shall  call  you  by  your  old  name  just 
once — I  do  not  take  your  hand — I  dare  not  touch  you 

326 


THE    QUALITY    OF    MERCY 

— because  I  love  you !  I  always  shall.  God  help  me, 
it  is  the  truth!" 

"Did  you  get  my  letters?"  she  said  suddenly,  and 
looked  him  fair  in  the  face. 

Meriwether  Lewis  stood  searching  her  countenance 
with  his  own  grave  eyes. 

"Letters?"  said  he  at  length.     "What  letters?" 

Her  eyes  looked  up  at  him  luminously. 

"You  are  glorious!"  said  she.  "Yes,  a  woman's 
name  would  be  safe  with  you.  You  are  strong.  How 
terrible  a  thing  is  a  sense  of  honor!  But  you  are 
glorious !  Good-by !" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  FRIENDS 

ALLIED  in  fortunes  as  they  had  been  in  friend 
ship,  Meriwether  Lewis  and  William  Clark 
went  on  side  by  side  in  their  new  labors  in  the 
capital  of  that  great  land  which  they  had  won  for  the 
republic.  Their  offices  in  title  were  distinct,  yet 
scarcely  so  in  fact,  for  each  helped  the  other,  as  they 
had  always  done. 

To  these  two  men  the  new  Territory  of  Louisiana 
owed  not  only  its  discovery,  but  its  early  passing-  over 
to  the  day  of  law  and  order.  No  other  men  could 
have  done  what  they  did  in  that  time  of  disorder  and 
change,  when,  rolling  to  the  West  in  countless  waves, 
came  the  white  men,  following  the  bee,  crossing  the 
great  river,  striking  out  into  the  new  lands,  a  head 
strong,  turbulent,  and  lawless  population. 

A  thousand  new  and  petty  cares  came  to  Governor 
Lewis.  He  passed  from  one  duty  to  another,  from 
one  part  of  his  vast  province  to  another,  traveling  con 
tinually  with  the  crude  methods  of  transportation  of 
that  period,  and  busy  night  and  day.  Courts  must  be 
established.  The  compilation  of  the  archives  must  be 
cared  for.  Records  must  be  instituted  to  clear  up  the 

328 


THE    FRIENDS 

swarm  of  conflicts  over  land-titles.  Scores  of  new 
duties  arose,  and  scores  of  new  remedies  needed  to  be 
devised. 

The  first  figure  of  the  growing  capital  of  St.  Louis, 
the  new  Governor  was  also  the  central  figure  of  all 
social  activities,  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes.  But  the 
laughing  belles  of  St.  Louis  at  length  sighed  and  gave 
him  up — they  loved  him  as  Governor,  since  they  might 
not  as  man.  Wise,  firm,  deliberate,  kind,  sad — he  was 
an  old  man  now,  though  still  young  in  years. 

Scattered  up  and  down  the  great  valley,  above  and 
below  St.  Louis,  and  harboring  in  that  town,  were 
many  of  the  late  adherents  of  Burr's  broken  con 
spiracy.  These  liked  not  the  oncoming  of  the  Ameri 
can  government,  enforced  by  so  rigid  an  executive  as 
the  one  who  now  held  power.  Threats  came  to  the  ears 
of  Meriwether  Lewis,  who  was  hated  by  the  Burr 
adherents  as  the  cause  of  their  discomfiture;  but  he, 
wholly  devoid  of  the  fear  of  any  man,  only  laughed 
at  them.  Honest  and  blameless,  it  was  difficult  for 
any  enemy  to  injure  him,  and  no  man  cared  to  meet 
Meriwether  Lewis  in  the  open. 

But  at  last  one  means  of  attack  was  found.  Once 
more — the  last  time — the  great  heart  of  a  noble  man 
was  pierced. 

"Will,"  said  he  to  his  friend,  as  they  met  at  Wil 
liam  Clark's  home,  according  to  their  frequent  custom, 
"I  am  in  trouble." 

"Fancied  trouble,  Merne,"  said  Clark.  "You're  al 
ways  finding  it !" 

"Would  I  might  call  it  fancied!     But  this  is  some- 

329 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

thing-  in  the  way  of  facts,  and  very  stubborn  facts.  See 
here" — he  held  out  certain  papers  in  his  hand — "by 
this  morning's  mail  I  get  back  these  bills  protested — 
protested  by  the  government  at  Washington!  And 
they  are  bills  that  I  have  drawn  to  pay  the  expenses 
of  administering  my  office  here." 

"Tut,  tut!"  said  William  Clark  gravely.  "Come, 
let  us  see." 

"Look  here,  and  here !  Will,  you  know  that  I  am  a 
man  of  no  great  fortune.  You  also  know  that  I  have 
made  certain  enemies  in  this  country.  But  now  I  am 
not  supported  by  my  own  government.  I  am  ruined 
— I  am  a  broken  man !  Did  you  think  that  this  coun 
try  could  do  that  for  either  of  us?" 

"But  Merne,  you,  the  soul  of  honor " 

"Some  enemy  has  done  this !  What  influences  have 
been  set  to  work,  I  cannot  say;  but  here  are  the  bills, 
-and  there  are  others  out  in  other  hands — also  protested, 
I  have  no  doubt.  I  am  publicly  discredited,  disgraced. 
I  know  not  what  has  been  said  of  me  at  Washington." 

"That  is  the  trouble,"  said  William  Clark  slowly. 
"Washington  is  so  far.  But  now,  you  must  not  let 
this  trouble  you.  'Tis  only  some  six-dollar-a-week 
clerk  in  Washington  that  has  done  it.  You  must  not 
consider  it  to  be  the  deliberate  act  of  any  responsible 
head  of  the  government.  You  take  things  too  hard, 
Merne.  I  will  not  have  you  brooding  over  this — it 
will  never  do.  You  have  the  megrims  often  enough, 
as  it  is.  Come  here  and  kiss  the  baby !  He  is  named 
for  you,  Meriwether  Lewis — and  he  has  two  teeth. 
Sit  down  and  behave  yourself.  Judy  will  be  here  in  a 

330 


THE    FRIENDS 

minute.    You  are  among  your  friends.    Do  not  grieve. 
'Twill  all  come  well !" 

This  was  in  the  year  1809.  Mr.  Jefferson's  embargo 
on  foreign  trade  had  paralyzed  all  Western  commerce. 
Our  ships  lay  idle;  our  crops  rotted;  there  was  no 
market.  The  name  of  Jefferson  was  now  in  general 
execration.  In  March,  when  his  second  term  as  Presi 
dent  expired,  he  had  retired  to  private  life  at  Monti- 
cello.  He  had  written  his  last  message  to  Congress 
that  very  spring,  in  which  he  said  of  the  people  of  his- 
country : 

I  trust  that  in  their  steady  character,  unshaken  by  diffi 
culties,  in  their  love  of  liberty,  obedience  to  law,  and  sup 
port  of  the  public  authorities,  I  see  a  sure  guarantee  of  the 
permanence  of  our  republic;  and  retiring  from  the  charge 
of  their  affairs,  I  carry  with  me  the  consolation  of  a  firm 
persuasion  that  Heaven  has  in  store  for  our  beloved  country 
long  ages  to  come  of  prosperity  and  happiness. 

Whatever  the  veering  self-interest  of  others  led  them 
to  think  or  do  regarding  the  memory  of  that  great 
man,  Meriwether  Lewis  trusted  Thomas  Jefferson 
absolutely,  and  relied  wholly  on  his  friendship  and  his 
counsel.  Now,  in  the  hour  of  trouble,  he  resolved  to 
journey  to  Monticello  to  ask  the  advice  of  his  old  chief, 
as  he  had  always  done. 

In  this  he  was  well  supported  by  his  friend  Dr. 
Saugrain. 

"You  are  ill,  Governor — you  have  the  fever  of  these 
lands,"  urged  that  worthy.  "By  all  means  leave  this 
country  and  go  back  to  the  East.  Go  by  way  of  New 

331 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Orleans  and  the  sea.  The  voyage  will  do  you  much 
good." 

"Peria,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis  to  his  French  ser 
vant  and  attendant,  "make  ready  my  papers  for  my 
journey.  Have  a  small  case,  such  as  can  be  carried  on 
horseback.  I  must  take  with  me  all  my  journals,  my 
maps,  and  certain  of  the  records  of  my  office  here.  Get 
my  old  spyglass;  I  may  need  it,  and  I  always  fancy 
to  have  it  with  me  when  I  travel,  as  was  my  custom  in 
the  West.  Secure  for  our  costs  in  travel  some  gold — • 
three  or  four  hundred  dollars,  I  imagine.  I  will  take 
some  in  my  belt,  and  give  the  rest  to  you  for  the  saddle- 
trunk." 

"Your  Excellency  plans  to  go  by  land,  then,  and  not 
by  sea?" 

"I  do  not  know.  I  must  save  all  the  time  possible. 
And  Peria " 

"Yes,  Excellency." 

"Have  my  pistols  well  cared  for,  and  your  own  as 
well.  See  that  my  small  powder-canister,  with  bullets, 
is  with  them  in  the  holsters.  The  trails  are  none  too 
safe.  Be  careful  whom  you  advise  of  our  plans.  My 
business  is  of  private  nature,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
disturbed.  And  here,  take  my  watch,"  he  concluded. 
"It  was  given  to  me  by  a  friend — a  good  friend,  Mr. 
Wirt,  and  I  prize  it  very  much — so  much  that  I  fear 
to  have  it  on  my  person.  Care  for  it  in  the  saddle- 
trunk." 

"Yes,  Excellency." 

"Do  not  call  me  'Excellency' — I  detest  the  title !  I 
am  Governor  Lewis,  and  may  so  be  distinguished. 

332 


THE    FRIENDS 

Go  now,  and  do  as  I  have  told  you.  We  shall  need 
about  ten  men  to  man  the  barge.  Arrange  it.  Have 
our  goods  ready  for  an  early  start  tomorrow  morn 
ing." 

All  that  night,  sleepless,  fevered,  almost  distracted, 
Meriwether  Lewis  sat  at  his  desk,  writing,  or  endeavor 
ing  to  write,  with  what  matters  upon  his  soul  we  may 
not  ask.  But  the  long  night  wore  away  at  last,  and 
morning  came,  a  morning  of  the  early  fall,  beautiful 
as  it  may  be  only  in  that  latitude.  Without  having* 
closed  his  eyes  in  sleep,  the  Governor  made  ready  for 
his  journey  to  the  East. 

Whether  or  not  Peria  was  faithful  to  all  his  in 
structions  one  cannot  say,  but  certainly  all  St.  Louis 
knew  of  the  intended  departure  of  the  Governor. 
They  loved  him,  these  folk,  trusted  him,  would  miss 
him  now,  and  they  gathered  almost  en  masse  to  bid 
him  godspeed  upon  his  journey. 

"These  papers  for  Mr.  Jefferson,  Governor — certain 
land-titles,  of  which  we  spoke  to  him  last  year.  Do 
you  not  remember?"  Thus  Chouteau,  always  busy 
with  affairs. 

"These  samples  of  cloth  and  of  satin,  Governor/' 
said  a  dark-eyed  French  girl,  smiling  up  at  him. 
"Would  you  match  them  for  me  in  the  East?  I  am 
to  be*  married  in  the  spring!" 

"The  price  of  furs — learn  of  that,  Governor,  if  you 
can,  while  on  your  journey.  The  embargo  has  ruined 
the  trade  in  all  this  inland  country!"  It  was  Manuel 
Liza,  swarthy,  taciturn,  who  thus  voiced  a  general 
feeling. 

333 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"Books,  more  books,  my  son!"  implored  Dr.  Sau- 
grain.  "We  are  growing  here — I  must  keep  up  with 
the  surgery  of  the  day;  I  must  know  the  new  dis 
coveries  in  medicine.  Bring  me  books.  And  take 
this  little  case  of  medicines.  You  are  ill,  my  son — the 
fever  has  you!" 

"My  people — they  mourn  for  me  as  dead/'  said  Big 
White,  the  Mandan,  who  had  never  returned  to  his 
people  up  the  Missouri  River  since  the  repulse  of  his 
convoy  by  the  Sioux.  "Tell  the  Great  Father  that  he 
must  send  me  soldiers  to  take  me  back  home  to  my 
people.  My  heart  is  poor !" 

"Governor,  see  if  you  can  get  me  an  artificial  limb 
of  some  sort  while  you  are  in  the  East." 

It  was  young  George  Shannon  who  said  this,  lean 
ing  on  his  crutch.  Shannon  had  not  long  ago  returned 
from  another  trip  up  the  river,  where  in  an  encounter 
with  the  Sioux  he  had  received  a  wound  which  cost  him 
a  leg  and  almost  cost  him  his  life — though  later,  as 
has  already  been  said,  he  was  to  become  a  noted  figure 
at  the  bar  of  the  State  of  Kentucky. 

"Yes!  Yes,  and  yes!"  Their  leader,  punctilious 
as  he  was  kind,  agreed  to  all  these  commissions — priz 
ing  them,  indeed,  as  proof  of  the  confidence  of  his 
people. 

He  was  ready  to  depart,  but  stood  still,  looking 
about  for  the  tall  figure  which  presently  he  saw  ad 
vancing  through  the  throng — a  tall  man  with  wide 
mouth  and  sunny  hair,  with  blue  eye  and  stalwart 
frame — William  Clark — the  friend  whom  he  loved  so 
much,  and  whom  he  was  now  to  see  for  the  last  time. 

334 


THE    FRIENDS 

so  much,  and  whom  he  was  now  to  see  for  the  last 
time  in  his  life. 

General  Clark  carried  upon  his  arm  the  baby  which 
had  been  named  after  the  Governor  of  the  new  Ter 
ritory.  Lewis  took  him  from  his  father's  arms  and 
pressed  the  child's  cool  face  to  his  own,  suddenly  trem 
bling-  a  little  about  his  own  lips  as  he  felt  the  tender 
flesh  of  the  infant.  No  child  of  his  own  might  he 
ever  hold  thus!  He  gave  him  back  with  a  last  look 
into  the  face  of  his  friend. 

"Good-by,  Will!"  said  he. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  WILDERNESS 

THE  Governor's  barge  swept  down  the  rolling- 
flood  of  the  Mississippi,  impelled  by  the  blades 
of  ten  sturdy  oarsmen.  Little  by  little  the  blue 
smoke  of  St.  Louis  town  faded  beyond  the  level  of  the 
forest.  The  stone  tower  of  the  old  Spanish  stockade, 
where  floated  the  American  flag,  disappeared  finally. 

Meriwether  Lewis  sat  staring  back,  but  seeming  not 
to  note  what  passed.  He  did  not  even  notice  a  long 
bateau  which  left  the  wharf  just  before  his  own  and 
preceded  him  down  the  river,  now  loafing  along  aim 
lessly,  sometimes  ahead,  sometimes  behind  that  of  the 
Governor  and  his  party.  In  time  he  turned  to  his  lap- 
desk  and  began  his  endless  task  of  writing,  examining, 
revising.  Now  and  again  he  muttered  to  himself. 
The  fever  was  indeed  in  his  blood ! 

They  proceeded  thus,  after  the  usual  fashion  of  boat 
travel  in  those  days,  down  the  great  river,  until  they 
had  passed  the  mouth  of  the  Ohio  and  reached  what 
was  known  as  the  Chickasaw  Bluffs,  below  the  con 
fluence  of  the  two  streams.  Here  was  a  little  post  of 
the  army,  arranged  for  the  commander,  Major  Neely, 
Indian  agent  at  that  point. 

336 


THE    WILDERNESS 

As  was  the  custom,  all  barges  tied  up  here ;  and  the 
Governor's  craft  moored  at  the  foot  of  the  bluff.  Its 
chief  passenger  was  so  weak  that  he  hardly  could  walk 
up  the  steep  steps  cut  in  the  muddy  front  of  the 
bank. 

"Governor  Lewis!"  exclaimed  Major  Neely,  as  he 
met  him.  "You  are  ill !  You  are  in  an  ague !" 

"Perhaps,  perhaps.  Give  me  rest  here  for  a  day  or 
two,  if  you  please.  Then  I  fancy  I  shall  be  strong- 
enough  to  travel  East.  See  if  you  can  get  horses  for 
myself  and  my  party — I  am  resolved  not  to  go  by  sea. 
I  have  not  time." 

The  Governor  of  Louisiana,  haggard,  flushed  with 
fever,  staggered  as  he  followed  his  friend  into  the 
apartment  assigned  to  him  in  one  of  the  cabins  of  the 
little  post.  He  wore  his  usual  traveling-garb ;  but  now, 
for  some  strange  reason  he  seemed  to  lack  his  usual 
immaculate  neatness.  Instead  of  the  formal  dress  of 
his  office,  he  wore  an  old,  stained,  faded  uniform  coat, 
its  pocket  bulging  with  papers.  This  he  kept  at  the 
head  of  his  bed  when  at  length  he  flung  himself  down, 
almost  in  the  delirium  of  fever. 

He  lay  here  for  two  days,  restless,  sleepless.  But  at 
length,  having  in  the  mean  time  scarcely  tasted  food, 
he  rose  and  declared  that  he  must  go  on. 

'"Major,"  said  he,  "I  can  ride  now.  Have  you 
horses  for  the  journey?" 

"Are  you  sure,  Governor,  that  your  strength  is  suffi 
cient?"  Neely  hesitated  as  he  looked  at  the  wasted 
form  before  him,  at  the  hollow  eye,  the  fevered 
face. 

337 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  my  personal  convenience, 
Major,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis.  "Time  presses  for 
me.  I  must  go  on !" 

"At  least  you  shall  not  go  alone,"  said  Major  Neely. 
"You  should  have  some  escort.  Doubtless  you  have 
important  papers?" 

Meriwether  Lewis  nodded. 

"My  servant  has  arranged  everything,  I  fancy. 
Can  you  get  an  extra  man  or  two?  The  Natchez 
Trace  is  none  too  safe." 

That  military  road,  as  they  both  knew,  was  indeed 
no  more  than  a  horse  path  cut  through  the  trackless 
forest  which  lay  across  the  States  of  Mississippi,  Ten 
nessee  and  Kentucky.  Its  reputation  was  not  good. 
Many  a  trader  passing  north  from  New  Orleans  with 
coin,  many  a  settler  passing  west  with  packhorses  and 
household  effects,  had  disappeared  on  this  wilderness 
road,  and  left  no  sign.  It  was  customary  for  parties 
of  any  consequence  to  ride  in  companies  of  some 
force. 

It  was  a  considerable  cavalcade,  therefore,  which 
presently  set  forth  from  Chickasaw  Bluffs  on  the  long 
ride  eastward  to  cross  the  Alleghanies,  which  meant 
some  days  or  weeks  spent  in  the  saddle.  Apprehen 
sion  sat  upon  all,  even  as  they  started  out.  Their  eyes 
rested  upon  the  wasted  form  of  their  leader,  the  de 
lirium  of  whose  fever  seemed  still  to  hold  him.  He 
muttered  to  himself  as  he  rode,  resented  the  near  ap 
proach  of  any  traveling  companion,  demanded  to  be 
alone.  They  looked  at  him  in  silence. 

"He  talks  to  himself  all  the  time,"  said  one  of  the 
338 


THE    WILDERNESS 

party — a  new  man,  hired  by  Neely  at  the  army  post. 
He  rode  with  Peria  now;  and  none  but  Peria  knew 
that  he  had  come  from  the  long  barge  which  had  clung 
to  the  Governor's  craft  all  the  way  down  the  river — 
and  which,  unknown  to  Lewis  himself,  had  tied  up  and 
waited  at  Chickasaw  Bluffs.  He  was  a  stranger  to 
Neely  and  to  all  the  others,  but  seemed  ready  enough 
to  take  pay  for  service  along  the  Trace,  declaring  that 
he  himself  was  intending  to  go  that  way.  He  was  a 
man  well  dressed,  apparently  of  education  and  of  some 
means.  He  rode  armed. 

"What  is  wrong  with  the  Governor,  think  you?"  in 
quired  this  man  once  more  of  Peria,  Lewis's  servant. 

"It  is  his  way,"  shrugged  Peria.  "We  leave  him 
alone.  His  hand  is  heavy  when  he  is  angry." 

"He  rides  always  with  his  rifle  across  his  saddle?" 

"Always,  on  the  trail." 

"Loaded,  I  presume — and  his  pistols?" 

"You  may  well  suppose  that,"  said  Peria. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  the  new  member  of  the  party,  "  'tis 
just  as  well  to  be  safe.  I  lifted  his  saddlebags  and 
the  desk,  or  trunk,  whatever  you  call  it,  that  is  on 
the  pack  horse  yonder.  Heavy,  eh  ?" 

"Naturally,"  grinned  Peria. 

They  looked  at  one  another.  And  thereafter  the 
two,  as  was  well  noted,  conversed  often  and  more 
intimately  together  as  the  journey  progressed. 

"Now  it's  an  odd  thing  about  his  coat,"  volunteered 
the  stranger  later  in  that  same  day.  "He  always  keeps 
it  on — that  ragged  old  uniform.  Was  it  a  uniform, 
do  you  believe?  Can't  the  Governor  of  the  new  Ter- 

339 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

ritory  wear  a  coat  that  shows  his  own  quality?  This 
one's  a  dozen  years  old,  you  might  say." 

"He  always  wears  it  on  the  trail/'  said  Peria.  "At 
home  he  watches  it  as  if  it  held  some  treasure." 

"Treasure  ?"  The  shifty  eyes  of  the  new  man  flashed 
in  sudden  interest.  "What  treasure?  Papers,  per 
haps — bills — documents — money?  His  pocket  bulges 
at  the  side.  Something  there — yes,  eh?" 

"Hush !"  said  Peria.  "You  do  not  know  that  man, 
the  Governor.  He  has  the  eye  of  a  hawk,  the  ear  of  a 
fox — you  can  keep  nothing  from  him.  He  fears 
nothing  in  the  world,  and  in  his  moods — you'd  best 
leave  him  alone.  Don't  let  him  suspect,  or — "  And 
Peria  shook  his  head. 

The  cavalcade  was  well  out  into  the  wilderness  east 
of  the  Mississippi  on  that  afternoon  of  October  8,  in 
the  year  1809.  Stopping  at  the  wayside  taverns  which 
now  and  then  were  found,  they  had  progressed  per 
haps  a  hundred  miles  to  the  eastward.  The  day  was 
drawing  toward  its  close  when  Peria  rode  up  and  an 
nounced  that  one  or  two  of  the  horses  had  strayed 
from  the  trail. 

"I  have  told  you  to  be  more  careful,  Peria,"  ex 
postulated  Governor  Lewis.  "There  are  articles  on 
the  packhorse  which  I  need  at  night.  Who  is  this  new 
man  that  is  so  careless?  Why  do  you  not  keep  the 
horses  up?  Go,  then,  and  get  them.  Major  Neely, 
would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  join  the  men  and  assure 
them  of  bringing  on  the  horses?" 

"And  what  of  you,  Governor?" 

"I  shall  go  on  ahead,  if  you  please.  Is  there  no 
340 


THE    WILDERNESS 

house  near  by?  You  know  the  trail.  Perhaps  we 
can  get  lodgings  not  far  on." 

"The  first  white  man's  house  beyond  here,"  an 
swered  Neely,  "belongs  to  an  old  man  named  Grinder. 
"Pis  no  more  than  a  few  miles  ahead.  Suppose  we 
join  you  there  ?" 

"Agreed,"  said  Lewis,  and  setting  spurs  to  his  horse, 
he  left  them. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  at  length  Meriwether 
Lewis  reined  up  in  front  of  the  somewhat  unattractive 
Grinder  homestead  cabin,  squatted  down  alongside  the 
Natchez  Trace;  a  place  where  sometimes  hospitality 
of  a  sort  was  dispensed.  It  was  an  ordinary  double 
cabin  that  he  saw,  two  cob-house  apartments  with  a 
covered  space  between  such  as  might  have  been  found 
anywhere  for  hundreds  of  miles  on  either  side  of 
the  Alleghanies  at  that  time.  At  his  call  there  ap 
peared  a  woman — Mrs.  Grinder,  she  announced  her 
self. 

"Madam,"  he  inquired,  "could  you  entertain  me  and 
my  party  for  the  night?  I  am  alone  at  present,  but 
my  servants  will  soon  be  up.  They  are  on  the  trail  in 
search  of  some  korses  which  have  strayed." 

"My  husband  is  not  here/'  said  the  woman.  "We 
are  not  well  fixed,  but  I  reckon  if  we  can  stand  it  all 
the  time,  you  can  for  a  night.  How  many  air  there  in 
your  party  ?" 

"A  half-dozen,  with  an  extra  horse  or  two." 

"I  reckon  we  can  fix  ye  up.  Light  down  and  come 
in." 

She  was  noting  well  her  guest,  and  her  shrewd  eyes 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

determined  him  to  be  no  common  man.  He  had  the 
bearing  of  a  gentleman,  the  carriage  of  a  man  used  to 
command.  Certain  of  his  garments  seemed  to  show 
wealth,  although  she  noted,  when  he  stripped  off  his 
traveling-smock,  that  he  wore  not  a  new  coat,  but  an 
old  one — very  old,  she  would  have  said,  soiled,  stained, 
faded.  It  looked  as  if  it  had  once  been  part  of  a  uni 
form. 

Her  guest,  whoever  he  was — and  she  neither  knew 
nor  asked,  for  the  wilderness  tavern  held  no  register, 
and  few  questions  were  asked  or  answered — paid  small 
attention  to  the  woman.  He  carried  his  saddlebags 
into  the  room  pointed  out  to  him,  flung  them  down, 
and  began  to  pace  up  and  down,  sometimes  talking  to 
himself.  The  woman  eyed  him  from  time  to  time  as 
she  went  about  her  duties. 

"Set  up  and  eat,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  reckon  your 
men  are  not  coming." 

"I  thank  you,  Madam,"  said  the  stranger,  with 
gentle  courtesy.  "Do  not  let  me  trouble  you  too  much. 
I  have  been  ill  of  late,  and  do  not  as  yet  experience 
much  hunger." 

Indeed,  he  scarcely  tasted  the  food.  He  sat,  as 
she  noted,  a  long  time,  gazing  fixedly  out  of  the  door, 
over  the  forest,  toward  the  West. 

"Is  it  not  a  beautiful  world,  Madam?"  said  he,  after 
a  time,  in  a  voice  of  great  gentleness  and  charm.  "I 
have  seen  the  forest  often  thus  in  the  West  in  the 
evening,  when  the  day  was  done.  It  is  wonderful!" 

"Yes.  Some  of  my  folks  is  thinking  of  going  out 
further  into  the  West." 

342 


THE    WILDERNESS 

He  turned  to  her  abstractedly,  yet  endeavoring  to 
be  courteous. 

"A  wonderful  country,  Madam!"  said  he;  and  so 
he  fell  again  into  his  moody  staring  out  beyond  the 
door. 

After  a  time  the  hostess  of  the  backwoods  cabin 
sought  to  make  up  a  bed  for  him,  but  he  motioned  to 
her  to  desist 

"It  is  not  necessary,"  said  he.  "I  have  slept  so 
much  in  the  open  that  'tis  rarely  I  use  a  bed  at  all.  I 
see  now  that  my  servant  has  come  up,  and  is  in  the 
yard  yonder.  Tell  him  to  bring  my  robes  and  blankets 
and  spread  them  here  on  the  floor,  as  I  always  have 
them.  That  will  answer  quite  well  enough,  thank 
you/' 

Peria,  it  seemed,  had  by  this  time  found  his  way  to 
the  cabin  along  the  trail.  He  was  alone. 

"Come,  man!"  said  Lewis.  "Make  down  my  bed 
for  me — I  am  ill.  And  tell  me,  where  is  my  powder  ? 
Where  are  the  bullets  for  my  pistols?  I  find  them 
empty.  Haven't  I  told  you  to  be  more  careful  about 
these  things?  And  where  is  my  rifle-powder?  The 
canister  is  here,  but  'tis  empty.  Come,  come,  I  must 
have  better  service  than  this !" 

But  even  as  he  chided  the  remissness  of  his  servant, 
he  seemed  to  forget  the  matter  in  his  mind.  Pres 
ently  he  was  again  pacing  apart,  stopping  now  and  then 
to  stare  out  over  the  forest. 

"I  must  have  a  place  to  write,"  said  he  at  length. 
"I  shall  be  awake  for  a  time  tonight,  occupied  with 
business  matters  of  importance.  Where  is  Major 

28  343 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

Neely?  Where  are  the  other  men?  Why  have  they 
not  come  up?" 

Peria  could  not  or  did  not  answer  these  questions, 
but  sullenly  went  about  the  business  of  making  his 
master  as  comfortable  as-  he  might,  and  then  departed 
to  his  own  quarters,  down  the  hill,  m  another  building. 
The  old  backwoods  woman  herself  withdrew  to  the 
other  apartment,  beyond  the  open  space  of  the  double 
cabin. 

The  soft,  velvet  darkness  of  night  in  the  forest  now 
came  on  apace — a  night  of  silence.  There  was  not 
even  the  call  of  a  tree  toad.  The  voice  of  the  whip- 
poorwill  was  stilled  at  that  season  of  the  year.  If 
there  were  human  beings  awake,  alert,  at  that  time, 
they  made  no  sound.  Meriwether  Lewis  was  alone — 
alone  in  the  wilderness  again.  Its  silences,  its  mys 
teries,  drew  about  him. 

But  now  he  stood,  not  enjoying  in  his  usual  fashion 
the  familiar  feeling  of  the  night  in  the  forest,  the 
calm,  the  repose  it  customarily  brought  to  him.  He 
stood  looking  intently,  as  if  he  expected  some  one — 
nay,  indeed,  as  if  he  saw  some  one — as  if  he  saw  a 
face !  What  face  was  it  ? 

At  last  he  made  his  way  across  the  room  to  the 
heavy  saddle-case  which  had  been  placed  there.  He 
flung  the  lid  open,  and  felt  among  the  contents.  It 
seemed  to  him  there  was  not  so  much  within  the  case 
as  there  should  have  been.  He  missed  certain  papers, 
and  resolved  to  ask  Peria  about  them.  He  could  not 
find  the  little  bags  of  coin  which  he  expected;  but  he 
found  the  watch,  lying  covered  in  a  corner  of  the  case. 

344 


THE    WILDERNESS 

He  drew  it  out  and,  stepping  toward  the  flickering1 
candle,  opened  it,  gazing  fixedly  at  the  little  silhouette 
cut  round  to  fit  in  the  back  of  the  case. 

It  was  a  face  that  he  had  seen  before — a  hundred 
times  he  had  gazed  thus  at  it  on  the  far  Western  trails. 

He  brought  the  little  portrait  close  up  to  his  eyes — 
but  not  close  to  his  lips.  No,  he  did  not  kiss  the  face 
of  the  woman  who  once  had  written  to  him : 

You  must  not  kiss  my  picture,  because  I  am  in  your  power. 

Meriwether  Lewis  had  won  his  long  fight !  He  had 
mastered  the  human  emotions  of  his  soul  at  last.  The 
battle  had  been  such  that  he  sat  here  now,  weak  and 
spent.  He  sat  looking  at  the  face  which  had  meant  so 
much  to  him  all  these  years. 

There  came  into  his  mind  some  recollection  of  words 
that  she  had  written  to  him  once — something  about 
the  sound  of  water.  He  lifted  his  head  and  listened. 
Yes,  there  was  a  sound  coming  faintly  through  the 
night — the  trickle  of  a  little  brook  in  the  ravine  below 
the  window. 

Always,  he  recalled,  she  had  spoken  of  the  sound 
of  water,  saying  that  that  music  would  blot  out  mem 
ory — saying  that  water  would  wash  out  secrets,  would 
wash  out  sins.  What  was  it  she  had  said  ?  What  was 
it  she  had  written  to  him  long  ago  ?  What  did  it  mean 
— about  the  water? 

The  sound  of  the  little  brook  came  to  his  ears  again 
in  some  shift  of  the  wind.  He  rose  and  stumbled  to 
ward  the  window,  carrying  the  candle  in  his  hand. 

345 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

His  haggard  face  was  lighted  by  its  flare  as  he  stood 
there,  leaning  out,  listening. 

It  was  then  that  his  doom  came  to  him. 

There  came  the  sound  of  a  shot ;  a  second ;  and  yet 
another. 

The  woman  in  the  cabin  nearby  heard  them  clearly 
enough.  She  rose  and  listened.  There  was  no  sound 
from  the  other  cabins.  The  servants  paid  no  attention 
to  the  shots,  if  they  had  heard  them — and  why  should 
they  not  have  heard  them?  No  one  called  out,  no 
one  came  running. 

Frightened,  the  woman  rose,  and  after  a  time  stepped 
timidly  across  the  covered  space  between  the  two 
rooms,  toward  the  light  which  she  saw  shining  faintly 
through  the  cracks  of  the  door.  She  heard  groans 
within. 

A  tall  and  ghastly  figure  met  her  as  she  approached 
the  door.  She  saw  his  face,  white  and  haggard  and 
stained.  From  a  wound  in  the  forehead  a  broad  band 
of  something  dark  fell  across  his  cheek.  From  his 
throat  something  dark  was  welling.  He  clutched  a 
hand  on  his  breast — and  his  fingers  were  dark. 

He  was  bleeding  from  three  wounds;  but  still  he 
stood  and  spoke  to  her. 

"In  God's  name,  Madam/'  said  he,  "bring  me  water ! 
I  am  killed!" 

She  ran  away,  she  knew  not  where,  calling  to  the 
others  to  come;  but  they  did  not  come.  She  was 
alone.  Once  more,  forgetful  of  her  errand,  incapable 
of  rendering  aid,  she  went  back  to  the  door. 

She  heard  no  sound.     She  flung  open  the  door  and 

346 


THE    WILDERNESS 

peered  into  the  room.  The  candle  was  standing, 
broken  and  guttering,  on  the  floor.  She  could  see  the 
scattered  belongings  of  the  traveling-cases,  empty  now. 
The  occupant  of  the  room  was  gone!  In  terror  she 
fled  once  more,  back  to  her  own  room,  and  cowered 
in  her  bed. 

Staggering,  groping,  his  hands  strained  to  him  to 
hold  in  the  life  that  was  passing,  Meriwether  Lewis 
had  left  the  room  where  he  had  received  his  wounds, 
and  had  steppd  out  into  the  air,  into  the  night.  All 
the  resolution  of  his  soul  was  bent  upon  one  purpose. 
He  staggered,  but  still  stumbled  onward. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  heard  the  sound  of  water, 
and  blindly,  unconsciously,  he  headed  that  way.  He 
entered  the  shadow  of  the  woods  and  passed  down 
the  little  slope  of  the  hill.  He  fell,  rather  than  seated 
himself,  at  the  side  of  the  brook  whose  voice  he  had 
heard  in  the  night.  He  was  alone.  The  wilderness 
was  all  about  him — the  wilderness  which  had  always 
called  to  him,  and  which  now  was  to  claim  him. 

He  sat,  gasping,  almost  blind,  feeling  at  his  pockets. 
At  last  he  found  it — one  of  the  sulphur  matches  made 
for  him  by  good  old  Dr.  Saugrain.  Tremblingly  he 
essayed  to  light  it,  and  at  last  he  saw  the  flare. 

With  skill  of  custom,  though  now  almost  uncon 
sciously,  his  fingers  felt  for  dry  bits  of  bark  and 
leaves,  little  twigs.  Yes,  the  match  served  its  purpose. 
A  tiny  flame  flickered  between  his  feet  as  he  sat. 

Did  any  eye  see  Meriwether  Lewis  as  he  sat  there 
in  the  dark  at  his  last  camp  fire?  Did  any  guilty  eye 
look  on  him  making  his  last  fight  ? 

347 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

He  sat  alone  by  the  little  fire.  His  hand,  dropping 
sometimes,  responsive  only  to  the  supreme  effort  of 
his  will,  fumbled  in  the  bosom  of  his  old  coat.  There 
were  some  papers  there — some  things  which  no  other 
eyes  than  his  must  ever  see!  Here  was  a  secret — it 
must  always  be  a  secret — her  secret  and  his!  He 
would  hide  forever  from  the  world  what  had  been 
theirs  in  common. 

The  tiny  flame  rose  up  more  strongly,  twice,  thrice, 
five  times — six  times  in  all !  One  by  one  he  had  placed 
them  on  the  flames — these  letters  that  he  had  carried 
on  his  heart  for  years — the  six  letters  that  she  had 
written  him  when  he  was  far  away  in  the  unknown. 
He  held  the  last  one  long,  trying  to  see  the  words. 
He  groaned.  He  was  almost  blind.  His  trembling 
finger  found  the  last  word  of  the  last  letter.  It  rose 
before  him  in  tall  characters  now,  all  done  in  flame  and 
not  in  block — Theodosia! 

Now  they  were  gone !  No  one  could  ever  see  them. 
No  one  could  know  how  he  had  treasured  them  all 
these  years.  She  was  safe ! 

Before  his  soul,  in  the  time  of  his  great  accounting, 
there  rose  the  passing  picture  of  the  years.  Free 
from  suffering,  now  absolved,  resigned,  he  was  a  boy 
once  more,  and  all  the  world  was  young.  He  saw 
again  the  slopes  of  old  Albemarle,  beautiful  in  the 
green  and  gold  of  an  early  autumn  day  in  old  Virginia. 
He  heard  again  his  mother's  voice.  What  was  it  that 
she  said  ?  He  bent  his  head  as  if  to  listen. 

"Your  wish — your  great  desire — your  hope — your 
dream — all  these  shall  be  yours  at  last,  even  though 

348 


THE    WILDERNESS 

the  trail  be  long,  even  though  the  burden  be  too  heavy 
to  carry  farther/' 

So  then  she  had  known — she  had  spoken  the  truth 
in  her  soothsaying  that  day  so  long  ago!  Now  his 
fading  eye  looked  about  him,  and  he  nodded  his 
head  weakly,  as  if  to  assent  to  something  he  had 
heard. 

He  had  so  earnestly  longed — he  had  so  greatly  de 
sired — to  be  an  honorable  man!  He  had  so  longed 
and  desired  to  do  somewhat  for  others  than  himself! 
And  here  was  peace,  here  indeed  was  conquest.  His 
great  desire  was  won ! 

His  lax  hands  dropped  between  his  knees  as  he  sat. 
A  little  gust  of  wind  sweeping  down  the  gully  caught 
up  some  of  the  white  ashes — stained  as  they  were  with 
blood  that  dropped  from  his  veins  as  he  bent  above 
them — carried  them  down  upon  the  tiny  thread  of  the 
little  brook.  It  carried  them  away  toward  the  sea — - 
his  blood,  the  ashes,  the  secret  which  they  hid. 

At  length  he  rose  once  more,  his  splendid  will  still 
forcing  his  broken  body  to  do  its  bidding.  Half 
crawling  up  the  bank,  once  more  he  stood  erect  and 
staggered  back  across  the  yard,  into  the  room.  The 
woman  heard  him  there  again.  Pity  arose  in  her 
breast;  once  more  she  mastered  her  terror  and  ap 
proached  the  door. 

"In  God's  name,  Madam,"  said  he,  "bring  me  water 
— wine !  I  am  so  strong,  I  am  hard  to  die !  Bind  up 
my  wounds — I  have  work  to  do!  Heal  me  these 
wounds !" 

But  not  her  power  nor  any  power  could  heal  such 

349 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

wounds  as  his.  Once  more  she  called  out  for  aid,  and 
none  came. 

The  night  wore  away.  The  dying  man  lay  on  his 
bearskin  pallet  on  the  floor,  motionless  now  and  silent, 
but  still  breathing,  and  calm  at  last.  It  was  dawn 
when  the  recreant  servant  found  him  there. 

"Peria,"  said  Meriwether  Lewis,  turning  his  fading 
eye  on  the  man.  "do  not  fear  me.  I  will  not  hurt 
you.  But  my  watch — I  cannot  find  it — it  seems  gone. 
I  am  hard  to  die,  it  seems.  But  the  little  watch — it 
had — a — picture — Ah !" 


CHAPTER    XIX 

DOWN    TO    THE    SEA 

MANY  days  later  the  French  servant,  Peria, 
rode  up  to  the  gate,  to  the  door,  of  Locust 
Hall,  the  Lewis  homestead  in  old  Virginia. 
The  news  he  bore  had  preceded  him.  He  met  a  stern- 
faced,  dark-browed  woman,  who  regarded  him  coldly 
when  he  announced  his  name,  regarded  him  in  silence. 
The  servant  found  himself  able  to  make  but  small 
speech. 

"Your  son  was  a  brave  man — he  lived  long,"  said 
Peria,  haltingly,  at  the  close  of  his  story. 

"Yes,"  said  the  mother  of  Meriwether  Lewis.  "He 
was  a  brave  man.  He  was  strong !" 

"He  was  unhappy;  but  why  he  should  have  killed 
himself " 

"Stop!"  The  dark  eyes  blazed  upon  him.  "What 
are  you  saying?  My  son  kill  himself?  It  is  an  out 
rage  to  his  memory  to  suggest  it.  He  was  the  victim 
of  some  enemy.  As  for  you,  begone !" 

So  Peria  passed  from  sight  and  view,  and  almost 
from  memory,  not  accused,  not  acquitted.  Long  after 
ward  a  brother  of  Meriwether  Lewis  met  him,  and 
found  that  he  was  carrying  the  old  rifle  and  the  little 

351 


THE    MAGNIFICENT   ADVENTURE 

watch  which  every  member  of  the  family  knew  so 
well.  These  things  had  been  missing  from  the  effects 
of  Meriwether  Lewis  in  the  inventory — indeed,  little 
remained  in  the  traveling-cases  save  a  few  scattered 
papers  and  the  old  spyglass.  There  was  no  gold. 
There  were  no  letters  of  any  kind. 

Soon  there  came  down  from  Monticello  to  Locust 
Hall  the  coach  of  Thomas  Jefferson. 

"Madam,"  said  he,  when  finally  he  stood  at  the  side 
of  the  mistress  of  Locust  Hall,  "it  is-  heavy  news  I 
thought  to  bring — I  see  that  you  have  heard  it.  What 
shall  I  say — what  can  we  say  to  each  other  ?  I  mourn 
him  as  if  he  were  my  own  son/' 

"It  has  come  at  last,"  said  the  mother  of  Meriwether 
Lewis.  "The  wilderness  has  him,  as  I  knew  it  would ! 
I  told  him,  here  at  this  place,  when  he  was  a  boy,  that 
at  last  the  load  would  weigh  him  down." 

"The  rumor  is  that  he  died  by  his  own  hand.  I 
find  it  difficult  to  believe.  It  is  far  more  likely  that 
some  enemy  or  robber  was  guilty  of  the  deed." 

"Whom  had  he  ever  harmed?"  she  demanded  of 
Jefferson. 

"None  in  the  world,  with  intent ;  but  he  had  enemies. 
Whether  by  his  own  hand  or  that  of  another,  he  died 
a  gallant  gentleman.  He  would  not  think  of  himself 
alone.  But  listen — bear  with  me  if  I  tell  you  that 
could  your  son  send  out  the  news  himself,  perhaps  he 
might  say  'twas  by  his  own  hand  he  perished,  and 
not  by  that  of  another !" 

"Never,  Mr.  Jefferson,  never  will  I  believe  that! 
It  was  not  in  his  nature !" 

352 


DOWN    TO    THE    SEA 

"I  agree  with  you.  But  when  we  take  the  last 
wishes  of  the  dead,  we  take  what  is  the  law  for  us. 
And  the  law  of  your  son  was  the  law  of  honor.  Sup 
pose,  my  dear  madam,  there  were  a  woman  concerned 
in  this  matter?" 

"He  never  wronged  a  woman  in  his  life " 

"Precisely,  nor  in  his  death  would  he  wrong  one! 
Do  you  begin  to  see  ?" 

"Did  he  ever  speak  to  you  of  her?" 

"It  was  impossible  that  he  should ;  but  I  knew  them 
both.  I  knew  their  secret.  Were  it  in  his  power  to 
do  so,  I  am  sure  that  he  carried  his  secret  with  him, 
so  that  it  might  never  be  shared  by  any.  That  secret 
he  has  guarded  in  death  as  in  life." 

"But  shall  I  let  that  stain  rest  on  his  name?"  The 
dark  eye  of  the  old  woman  gleamed  upon  her  son's 
friend. 

"Do  not  I  love  him  also  ?  I  am  speaking  now  only 
of  his  own  wish — not  ours.  I  know  that  he  would 
shield  her  at  any  cost — nay,  I  know  he  did  shield  her 
at  any  cost.  May  not  we  shield  him — and  her — no 
matter  what  the  cost  to  us?  If  he  laid  that  wish  on 
us,  ought  we  not  to  respect  it  ?  Madam,  I  shall  frame 
a  letter  which  will  serve  to  appease  the  criticism  of  the 
public  in  regard  to  your  son.  If  it  be  not  the  exact 
truth — and  who  shall  tell  the  exact  truth? — it  will 
at  least  be  accepted  as  truth,  and  it  will  forever  silence 
any  talk.  What  should  the  public  know  of  a  life  such 
as  his?  There  are  some  lives  which  are  tragically 
large,  and  such  was  his.  He  lived  with  honor,  and 
he  could  not  die  without  it.  What  was  in  his  heart 

353 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

we  shall  not  ask  to  know.  If  ever  he  sinned,  he  is 
purged  of  any  sin." 

Jefferson  was  silent  for  a  moment,  holding  the  be 
reaved  mother's  hand  in  his  own. 

"He  shall  have  a  monument,  madam/'  he  went  on. 
"It  shall  mark  his  grave  in  yonder  wilderness.  They 
shall  name  at  least  a  county  for  him,  and  hold  it  his 
sacred  grave-place — there  in  Tennessee,  by  the  old  In 
dian  road.  Let  him  lie  there  under  the  trees — that  is  as 
he  would  wish.  He  shall  have  some  monument — yes, 
but  how  futile  is  all  that!  His  greatest  monument 
will  be  in  the  vast  new  country  which  he  has  brought 
to  us.  He  was  a  man  of  a  natural  greatness  not  sur 
passed  by  any  of  his  time." 

What  of  Theodosia  Alston,  loyal  and  lofty  soul, 
blameless  wife,  devoted  and  pathetic  adherent  to  the 
fallen  fortunes  of  her  ill-starred  father  ? 

Three  years  after  Meriwether  Lewis  laid  him  down 
to  sleep  in  the  forest,  a  ship  put  out  from  Charleston 
wharf.  It  was  bound  for  the  city  of  New  York, 
where  at  that  time  there  was  living  a  broken,  homeless, 
forsaken  man  named  Aaron  Burr — a  man  execrated 
at  home,  discredited  abroad,  but  who  now,  after  years 
of  exile,  had  crept  home  to  the  country  which  had 
cast  him  out. 

A  passenger  on  that  ship  was  Theodosia  Alston, 
the  daughter  of  Aaron  Burr.  That  much  is  known. 
The  ship  sailed.  It  never  came  to  port.  No  more  is 
known. 

To  this  day  none  knows  what  was  the  fate  of  Aaron 

354 


DOWN    TO    THE    SEA 

Burr's  daughter,  one  of  the  most  appealing  figures  of 
her  day,  a  woman  made  for  happiness,  but  continually 
in  close  touch  with  tragedy.  Wherever  her  body  may 
lie,  she  has  her  wish.  The  sound  of  the  eternal  waters 
is  the  continuous  requiem  in  her  ears.  Her  secret, 
if  she  had  one,  is  washed  away  long  ere  this,  and  is 
one  with  the  eternal  secrets  of  the  sea.  As  to  her  sin, 
she  had  none.  Above  her  memory,  since  she  has  no 
grave,  there  might  best  be  inscribed  the  words  she 
wrote  at  a  time  of  her  own  despair: 

"I  hope  to  be  happy  in  the  next  world,  for  I  have 
not  been  bad  in  this." 

Did  the  little  brook  in  Tennessee  ever  find  its  way 
down  to  the  sea?  Did  it  carry  a  scattered  drop  of 
a  man's  lifeblood,  little  by  little  thinning,  thinning  on 
its  long  journey?  Did  ever  a  wandering  flake  of 
ashes,  melting,  rest  on  its  bosom  for  so  great  a  journey 
as  that  toward  the  sea  ? 

Did  the  sound  of  a  voice  in  the  wilderness,  pass 
ing  across  the  unknown  leagues,  ever  reach  an  ear 
that  heard  ?  Who  can  tell  ?  Perhaps  in  the  great  ten 
thousand  years  such  things  may  be — perhaps  deep  calls 
to  deep,  and  there  are  no  longer  sins  nor  tears. 

A  million  hearth-fires  mark  the  camp-fire  trail  of 
Meriwether  Lewis.  We  own  the  country  which  he 
found,  and  for  which  he  paid.  He  sleeps.  Above 
him  stands  the  monument  which  his  chief  assigned  to 
him — his  country.  It  rises  now  in  glory  and  splendor, 
the  perfected  vision  which  he  saw. 

That  is  the  happy  ending  of  his  story — his  country ! 
It  is  ours.  As  its  title  came  to  us  in  honor,  it  is  for 

355 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    ADVENTURE 

us  to  love  it  honorably,  to  use  it  honorably,  and  to 
defend  it  honorably.  None  may  withstand  us  while 
we  hold  to  his  ambitions — while  our  sons  measure  to 
the  stature  of  such  a  man. 


32974 


M18924 


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